How a Gentleman wins a Lady
by oldfashionedromantic
Summary: When a chance encounter leaves Erik d'Aubert obsessed with Christine Daaë he weds her by the will of her father. Now Erik must learn exactly how a gentleman wins a lady. My first story ever ErikxChristine. Complete
1. The Angel of Music

**Chapter one**

Smoke swirled in thick silvery pools around the stone banks of his lair as the misty lake chilled even further the icy cavern which he was forced to call home. Long fingers moved caressingly over the ivory keys as they stroked out a deep haunting melody in a slow pained legato. The soft notes sounded of many things—passion, lust intrigue… yet most of all was his own agony… Yes, his agony that was apparent in every fiber of his being. Agony that pierced him with moonlit silver eyes that seemed to sharpen to daggers in the candlelight and turn as hard as stone with the moon. His

Reaching with one finger into his mouth he roughly bit the tip letting out a note of the agony in a slow kind of hum that sang with a sort of morbid fascination at the feeling of pain. He sucked in a breath of air as he gazed hard at the drop of blood that welled there. Laying his finger over the candle letting its soft light be burned out by the droplets of the wound. He smirked rather grimly at the blood that trickled now just lightly over the dead wick and sucked the rest dry. His dark musings were fueled by the taste and he laughed darkly as the pain subsided into a dull burn.

Music began to flow like water from his hands more so as the pressure caused the pain to increase. The whole world around him was now a haze of pale color as his muse sang of all the darkness inside him. There was little to do but to weep into his music to let it all out into the masterpiece he had created out of his pain. The music sobbed for him wept with all the morbid fascinations and dreams that had been born from so many years of solitude. Every last dark melody, all the ringing bells of his night kingdom which he heard every night for the past twenty years. They came together in one sadistic symphony.

The writer of this master work was so deeply locked within the confines of his genius that the slightest sound that wouldst disturb him would cause his fingers to crash down with a vengeance worthy of the Storm God himself. This was the very thing that happened when the hollow wail of a real sob echoed throughout his cavern. He slammed his fingers down on the keys from which broke forth from the high register an eerie sound as offensive and off-key as a screech owl in the dead of night. The composer glared at the sky at first in a haze of rage but as he listened he became aware that the moaning sob was not his own but more importantly that ofa._.. child _weeping for someone or something. He rubbed at his temples irritated, this child interrupted his music.

He hated it when people broke his concentration and even more so when the culprit was a sniveling brat. He got up and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, his lasso, beginning to creep about the hollow stone hallways in hopes of finding the disturbance and ending its miserable existence entirely! The soft hiss of a curse escaped his normally eloquent lips as he failed time and again at finding the little culprit. He sat down again at his piano and touched the smooth ivory coolness of its hand-crafted keys for the sheer point of keeping his mind in check.

The child's sobbing was really starting to become a tiresome sound and rather taxing on his nerves. He looked about himself again this time using his wolf's eyes to pierce through the darkness with almost inhuman precision. All right— so this child was not in his lair at all and it was merely the fine acoustics of his underground halls amplifying this pestering sound. Still for some reason whose purpose was beyond him he was finding himself curious to find the source of this rather petulant noise. So with that cat-like grace with which he had been known for, he rose to his feet and skulked his way up the path.

As he made his way up the path he found to no surprise, there was in fact, a child there weeping. A pretty chocolate-haired amber-eyed girl. He watched her for a moment his eyes drinking in the sight of this newcomer, this new subject in his artistic domain. She appeared to be a young woman of sorts no elder than the blossom of sixteen, at first glance he thought that there was nothing particularly enchanting about the child, mostly she possessed just a plain sort of childish prettiness which clung to her features. She was no Aphrodite to be sure hardly worthy of beauty, but then she opened her mouth and a soft bell rang forth from the pale bloodless things that were her all too thin lips.

It was that sound that caused him to jump back, the pitch of her voice was something close to angelic and made his eyes smart with a pain he had long since banished. The pain of tears. He wiped them bitterly and silently cursed whatever manner of being it was which she sang for. For it was clear to him that whomever or whatever it was she sang for did not seem to care a damn for her voice. This girl could have had the gift of an angelic voice capable of astonishing the world and yet she had neglected it! What blasphemy! She was singing the final main aria from _Hannibal_ as the beautiful Elissa held her dying love.

"_Rome will be far worse now than e'er before_,

_My love is breathing his last breath and my heart is no more._"

He stepped back as he heard her weeping-- the child was quiet an actress to be sure. He saw an the door creek open and the old Henriette Giry came bustling in much to his annoyance and said it was time for her to meet the other girls of the _corps d' ballet_. His eyes hardened as he watched the old woman gently urge her off towards the dormitories where she would share a room with another ballet rat. This child was clearly not a dancer!

He sighed and rubbed at his temples as he slowly crept back to his lair. There in the peaceful solitude of his lonely darkness was what he always knew would heal him. His music. For some reason or another he could not find the strength to compose he was still left in shock from his reaction to the girl. The music just would not come. He wrote a letter excusing the new girl from rehearsals and smiled. He would find out more about her one way or another...

Over the next three days he would wait for her after her no doubt disastrous rehearsals. He would make sure to cloak himself in the blankets of shadows in any corner he could so that he could see her but she could not do the same. Each day he would seethe at the sight of her, huffing and puffing as she rubbed her burning limbs. Heard the other talent less twits of the dancer's core telling her that she was as graceful as a stork on hot coals. One particularly fat girl Bethie as she was called was bullying her so badly that Madame Giry gave her a wrap on the ankle so hard her eyes pooled with spoiled tears.

That made him quirk his lips upward in a low growling chuckle. One that he had to stifle lest anyone hear him. It was not until the third day however that he heard her weeping. He came this time and saw that the little Megara Giry was kneeling beside her and soothingly rubbing her back as she murmured to the little girl softly. He watched her weep and then he heard the child say something, "Christine it will be all right." So that was her name...

_Christine..._ He knew that at least and that was a start. Perhaps it was time for him to visit an old acquaintance.... One other who knew all about the opera and all its occupancy.

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

The weather on this dreary January evening was poorly rubbed to say the least as heavy droplets of rain splattered relentlessly on the roofs of every Parisian home. Nadir Khan was situated comfortably in his foyer lying on his dividend of Persian saddle bags. He sighed and breathed a puff of smoke from a rather ugly cigar tucked into the corner of his right cheek, breathing in the sweet smelling smoke. He grunted mightily when he inhaled too much and made his poor chest heave in pain from the oncoming cough. Sitting up he reached for his cup of Russian tea with lemon and sipped the bitter liquid letting the lemony foam curl the hairs of his goatee and mustache. He sighed again and blew another puff of smoke from his cigar.

Yawing in a rather loud and impolite fashion, the Persian decided that tonight was the perfect night for some shrimp soup and a romantic book, but was feeling too lazy to get up. Instead he grabbed a copy of _Macbeth _that was lying around and a few leftover butter cookies from that mornings tea and began to nibble on them. He was half way through the first cookie and twelve pages into the book when the front door of his home sprang open with a rather loud crack. The dark-skinned man uttered a cry of surprise and dismay as a rather tall figure in a burgundy cloak that covered him from head to foot stalked into the room. Before he could tell the visitor to go away whomever it was reached up with one long fluid motion and threw the hood back.

"My Allah!" the words flew from his mouth before he could stop them and the visitor gave a long dark chuckle.

"You flatter me Kahn." said he with a quirk of his lips and moved forward to take a seat in the high-backed armchair that was closest to the fireplace.

"What are..." he began.

"Please spare me the pleasantries." the other snapped boredom glistening in his icy gaze.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

"What do you know of Mme. Giry's new ward, Christine?" said he as though they were discussing the weather.

Nadir was shocked by this strange question, and opened his mouth to answer, only to find that no sound came out. Finding his voice, he answered, "She is the daughter of a violinist, who I am sure you have heard of. Gaston Daae?" He eyed the other suspiciously. "Why?"But the man said no more and suddenly vanished, leaving as quickly as he had come.

Nadir chewed the remains of his cigar, stunned and thinking.

**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

So she is the daughter of Gaston Daaë is she? That explained her aptitude at music. He massaged his temple and went to the girl where she usually was and crying like always crying for her father's angel. He sighed and then called softly finding for some reason the child's tears to be unbearable : _"Christine," _she looked up and began to cry harder. _"Do not cry child... I am here to give you music. Perfect and flawless music to astonish the world." _

He saw her smile and that was that. He would be her angel. Perhaps it would help them both out in the long run. Besides, he mused, It was the least he could do...


	2. Obsession begins

**Chapter two**

He very seldom ventured out in the early hours of the evening, preferring the secrecy of total darkness, the deep passive soothe of the shadows. They eased his mind calmed the torrent of music that drove him to near madness into lullabies that provided what little sleep he could get. Tonight, however, his music gave him no comfort for his hands would not ease the ache that burned in his fingers. Normally, he would have welcomed this burn for the pain made his tunes all the more passionate and fueled his pained mind to let him sleep with only the gentlest versions of his ever-constant nightmares .

Tonight however the pain made him restless and more angry than ever. For if there was anything that he found intolerable above all else, it was when the only thing he loved– his music– became his antagonist rather than his savior. He pounded the keys with his hands until they bled through the fabric of his gloves the white ivory, turning rosy with the rusty tint. Panting hard as his music reached a dramatic crescendo and standing up slammed the lid of his piano down in frustration. He had the sudden urge to destroy the blasted instrument but instead had to settle for tossing his music stand to the ground and moaning in frustration.

The musician got up with an uncharacteristic amount of effort and skulked towards the little dungeon that served as his sleeping chambers. He shoved back the lid of the ebony casket aside and climbed in closing the thick door with a heavy thud. He sighed and removed his cloak and covered himself with it. Soon darkness swallowed him in a thick and heavy sleep. This night his nightmare was of a different sort for this night he saw the Daae child weeping as her beautiful voice sang songs of love, while he stroked her cocoa-colored locks down the small of her back… He watched those honey-colored eyes shimmer with childlike beauty in a kind of bejeweled amber that resembled a dance of firelight… a soft way that belonged to candlelight…

He woke in such a rush; the having shocked him so much that silvery drops of sweat trickled down from his hairline to moisten his face and seep down to the nape of his neck. He rose to his knees and reached through a crack in the lid, hooking his fingers of his one hand around the edge and swinging it off to the side. He breathed hard in and out and went into his walk-in dresser where he changed his sopping shirt into a dry one but left his mask alone, enjoying the painful sting which was caused by the wetness that had collected there as he slept. Normally he would have changed his mask to a dry one too, but tonight he welcomed the pain because it was the only thing that was familiar to him at the moment, the only thing that made any sense to him at all at the present .

In the darkness the masked man rubbed at his face and sighed as he thought about the dream of the Daaë girl. Why had he dreamed of her? More importantly why said dream had left him in such a state? He was the opera ghost! The master of the greatest artistic domain known the world over, he did not have dreams of anyone! The answer eluded and therefore infuriated him. He had the need to kill. He crawled as silently as a scorpion up the stone pathway letting the leaky mud from the cracks of the limestone walls turn his hair slimy with grime. It made his mask have tinges of brown on its pristine white surface and made a dreadful stink waft to his nose so that he wrinkled it in strong distaste. It was then that he saw a spider dangling on its merry way from a silver thread, reaching up he grabbed its body with his whole palm and squeezed the life out of it so that its entrails oozed out in a sticky yellowish green slime which he smeared on the wall near the remains of the body.

Normally he liked spiders, felt a sort of kinship with them— for you see spiders never really got their happy ending either. The male ones died as they mated and the females were killed as they bore their young, never getting to enjoy the life with the one they had chosen. On any other occasion he would have pitied the creature, after all it was one of nature's many artists and also one of the world's accursed, for no matter how beautiful a spider spins his web, he is by a nature a ugly specimen and therefore is shunned and feared by the world. Normally he both pitied and envied them they had the right to a mate– something he could never have, but tonight he saw them only as an annoyance.

He wiped the remnants of spider-fluid on the hem of his cloak knowing that when he crossed the lake the water would remove it. The spider had eased his murderous tendencies somewhat but not completely and so he snuck on upward in his paths, vowing that anymore interruptions would meet with the same fate as the first. Erik reached his boat and began to row away with easy graceful strokes, and each flip of the ore was filled with a dark and deadly purpose . When he reached the bank he tied the boat and decided it best to leave the lantern behind for fear that anyone would see its light.

With steps quick and silent, he found his way to the paths which lead to the stage. The ballet rats were just finishing up their rehearsal by now and he decided to have a little fun with their heads– scare them out of their wits before he finished his task. He made his way to the rafters where he noticed that young Megara was fighting with her mother over where she had put her slippers. The Phantom rolled his eyes at this, such a trivial matter. He then noticed that little Jammes was not present and found himself cursing when his eyes found her wondering about backstage. She was looking about at an odd assortment of props and other odds and ends from that night's performance.

He saw her pick up Elissa's diamond necklace and jeweled hairpins which the female lead wore during Act III, and Hannibal's golden scepter from Act I and go sit down on Elissa's throne giving out orders to imaginary subjects. He scoffed at the ridiculousness of the child's actions; she was no queen here. He was the only ruler here, and she would do best to learn that. Her mother, the elder Jammes was bustling about like the worthless cleaning lady she was and when her daughter left he heard her scoffing when her mother forewarned her not to take the props with her for they were the property of the Opera Ghost.

So.. she was stealing from him was she? Very well, then he would do the same, only he would take something much more valuable than a few fake jewels, much more valuable. Once the Prince of Stranglers had his mind set to a target he would not give in until he had achieved his goal. The harder tasks thrilled him whilst the easier ones bored hm. This task was one of those that while it assuaged his need, was not in the least bit exciting

After all, he mused, It was the perfect crime—no one would ever come looking for an old cleaner, and it would certainly teach the brat some respect!

He began to follow the old woman in the shadows... making no more noise than a well conducted shadow should. It was not long before he found the woman humming an old folk-song to herself in a most unbearable fashion. He dully noted that her voice was not as bad as Carlotta, and her voice might have had a sweet and motherly voice at one time. With the proper training could have made a very nice mezzo.

'_Such a pity_' thought he as he came upon her and was forced to endure more of that offensive noise, her voice could have been a good one but now it was scratchy and offensive. Something that he could now kill her for–– music was the purist thing, perhaps in his mind, the _only _pure thing in this world and she was ruining it, destroying its purity with the blasphemy of her long-dead voice . He crept silently towards her humming the same song in an ethereal voice that carried over her elderly one so that tears sparkled in her nearly-blind blue eyes. She looked up, unseeing but gazing right at him.

She said her voice raspy from years if unprotected use, "I am ready Monsieur Ghost, yes I know it is you for no other could ever have such a voice. Take your vengeance... and thank you for sparing my daughter." Her killing was suddenly overcome with a sense of fury, not at the old woman but at himself for the feelings of pity that had stirred unexpectedly inside him. He growled angry with her for causing him to feel this unwanted emotion. The feeling made him want to kill her even more than he had moments before, for the simple reason that, He hated those feelings, moreover he hated the person that caused them no matter who it might be and at the moment it was the old woman.

He swooped down silently, masking his way toward her, like an angel of death. Taking her neck between his fingertips, he pressed as hard as he could, with strong, wiry bones cutting into her flesh, until he quite suddenly released her involuntarily. Silver eyes met blue and she looked at him in awe, as if she could not believed he had let her go. He could hardly believe it himself, until she looked at him with pity and understanding gratitude, something he could not stand.

He reached up and snapped her neck like a twig.

She had bitten her tongue when he had slain her and a small trickle of ruby liquid dripped to her chin in which he wrote the letters: O.G. Leaving the corps now cold in the room.

He sighed when the all-too-familiar sound of a child sobbing came to his ears. He came upon the real thief of his sleep that night: the Daaë girl was in her usual place by the chapel fire crying over the cruelty of the others with whom she bunked with. He called, _"Christine..... Christine..."_ the girl looked up and continued crying and he rubbed his face from the shadows.

"Why do you weep?" he asked her softly.

"Mama..." the little Daaë began and then elaborated, "It is her birthday today."

"Hmm, " said he, "Shall I say happy birthday to her for you?"

"You can do that?" she asked, her golden-honey eyes brightening

He chuckled and said, "But of course! I am an angel, after all."

"Oh thank you angel!" she said joyfully clapping her hands.

He took out his violin and began to play a improvised birthday tune that was sure to make her happy. He evem threw in his ventriloquism, with a falsetto laugh, to make the child think her mama was chortling lightly. Christine seemed contented and sang along as she heard the song fade. The two began singing as the night went on, and both were happy enough

Throughout the lesson he had to stop himself from wondering how soft her small bosom was under her nightdress and how smoldering and inviting her eyes would be when passion set them aglow. It was when he bade her goodnight that she looked the most attractive, when her eyes were hidden half-way under her lids. He watched her fall asleep and left quickly.

He really needed a drink.


	3. Puzzeling emotions

**Chapter three**

The masked man heaved a sigh as a haunting melody poured from his fingers. The notes were-- like always a deep symphony comprised of his own emotions. This night however, it would seem that his emotions were taunting him and have a thoroughly good time of it at that. The melody that poured from him, was not of the usual relentless pain he was so accustom to feeling, but of a kinder and at the same worse sort. Agony that ripped tirelessly at his heart, made his songs softer; weeping in a way one does when they are heartbroken.

He found himself struggling more and more as the night went on to gather control of this ache in his chest. He did not understand these feelings, they were a torment he would gladly be rid of. The composer sighed again and finished the short piece with his signature at the bottom left corner where he intend to write the letters: O.G. as he always did. It only mildly surprised him when he wrote his name instead for nothing made sense at the moment anyways. He sat back on his high-backed piano bench–- he had designed himself to see his comforts— and pondered a title. What he cane up with was one word: Christine.

It was in that moment he became enraged, this was her fault! She had done something to him to make him the way he was and devil help him he liked it.. There was a certain fascination in these strange sensations, he was; after all a true magician. No fantastic thing was beyond his figuring, no illusion he could not master if he set his mind to it. These feelings were just another game, another puzzle waiting to be solved by his unsurpassable wit. He would explore them and then he would find a cure for them, one way or another.

He nodded, silently confirming his unspoken vow as he went about fetching more paper and ink thinking he would go back to work. It would seem however, that fate had other plans for him this night, for he had , in his sudden bout of anger misplaced these items and now could not find them. More anger boiled up in his heart, bringing a glint to his silver gaze like that of a freshly honed blade winking in the afternoon sunlight. Blinding, bloodthirsty; he saw to his own grim pleasure a young rat barley weaned into maturity crawling closely to this foot. Bending over he reached down, not caring as it bit him and chocked it enjoying every pained and terrified squeak it uttered until it was at last rendered unconscious. His anger abated only after he took its head in his hand and snapped its neck, tossing it mangled corps into the lake with a cruel smile.

Now, with his murderous tendencies assuaged, the Phantom slowly sank to his knees, his head throbbing unexpectedly. He got up shakily and began breathing hard his chest heaving with each gasp. With a lurch, he vomited. When he had finished he staggered to his kitchen and threw open the covert over his sink. He bent over and finished getting sick, flushing it down with water and a curse. For a moment he rested his forehead on the cold marble, its icy texture felt nice on his throbbing head.

He stood up, still shaking and brought his hand up to grasp the two wooden bottles. Morphine, always his great friend and enemy, would release him from his pain. He went to his sleeping quarters and lay in his casket where the darkness dulled the constant throb to a more tolerable ache-- if still very painful. He looked at the two bottles, the first of which held laudanum, the second morphine. Usually he took the latter first, but tonight he drank the sleeping drug before sticking the syringe in his arm, for he wanted to rest in peace.

It was not long before he began to feel the drugs taking affect and his eyes began to droop. They were soon so heavy that he had to force them open in order to plunge the needle in properly. When he did however, the waves of nausea quit and the pain in his head stopped completely. He slept, and when he woke again it was early morning and he rose to greet the pale morning. He knew it was morning because he could hear the hustle and bustle of rehearsals above his head, amplified by the hollow cavern. When he heard Madame Giry bang her cane on the stage , he winced and wondered idly why she did that so often.

Once he had collected his senses, he noted that his ached abominably, most likely form the after-affects of the morphine. He took some more and then closed his eyes as a dark melody manifested itself to him in his drug-induced state. This melody had a peculiarity to it, for though it was a dark one it was strangely passionate Its notes were a deep low tenor, coupled with a gravely gothic base sounding menacingly sweet. What happened next shocked him out of his high, his mind formed a picture of the Daaë child.

This was not what shocked him, rather it was the way she was looking at him through amber fire. An enticing image of her between the sheets of an ordinate bed covered in silks of white with crimson pillows of Persian velvet. His hands running over her as she moaned his name. He stood up so fast, he lost his grace and nearly fell over, staggering as quickly as he could towards the sink where he splashed icy water on his face. His breath, coming hard he panted and slumped over falling to his knees, leaning his head on the cabinet. He cursed every god he had ever heard of for giving him these urges. They had given him the face of a creature—that was putting it kindly— and the urges of a man.

Urges he could never fulfill.

He could not go to any whorehouse for once the prostitute saw the scars, if one could call them that she would scream in fright and then faint. It did him no good to use her then, for cruel and heartless as he was he did have _some _morals and would not rape a young girl. He smirked at the thought of how ironic that was, that he could kill a harmless old granny of a mother but not take his pleasures on a woman who used herself for profit. Even if he could what difference would it make? She was not who he dreamed of and never would be– it would not matter if he bedded a dozen whores, none of them were Christine.

The image of the her draped with the silken sheets on the bed refused to leave him alone. He kept seeing her, naked there beneath him as his hands touched her in ways that only a lover should. The thought made him moan, more in agony than in the pleasure that those sort of thoughts should have brought him. It was not the warming burn of arousal but one of longing for something that could never be his. Anger boiled in him, why was he thinking such things? She was a child! Merely blossoming to the age of sixteen, while he was an old man of thirty-six winters. To have such thoughts of her was beyond lecherous... and yet he could not help himself.

He muttered a curse as he shot to his feet and ran to the mirror which was covered in a faded old stage curtain long since discarded. With a cry, that was more animal than man he tore the cloth down and roughly yanked his mask off. The leather fell to the floor with a soft thunk, and he forced himself to look at his own face. There in the glass was a reflection of the curse which had plagued him for so many years. He gave himself a sickly smile, finding cruel enjoyment in completing his gruesome visage. His reflection smiled back.

His mouth moved up and down, no sound came out. He tried again and this time it worked for his hoarse voice said, "remember who you are. **What** you are." with use of his ventriloquism he was able to make his message clearer by making his reflection bring him back to his grim reality. He swore again and took up the half-empty bottle of laudanum draining the rest and dropping the bottle to the floor as he let himself fall; slipping away.

The dream of her in the bed was there in his mind again, only this time she was giving him his pleasures. She was caressing him with her small hands and kissing his lips. The whisper of his name was on her lips and left in a sweet breath that tasted of chocolate and wine. Her hand touched his face and she kissed him softly slipping her hand under the mask and pulling it off. She pulled away then when she felt the roughness of his malformed cheek brushing her face. Her honey-colored eyes widened, she opened her mouth, and she screamed.

It was this that jolted from his sleep and he woke with tears in his eyes, which he wiped away angrily. The touch of his hand rubbing against caused it to burn in pain, a sensation he found strangely welcoming. It reminded him of what he was, a monster. He got up and gathered up his mask restoring it to his face as he climbed down the pathway to his wine cellar. In the darkness of the cavern he selected a bottle of Rosemary, vintage seventeen-seventy-five and uncorked it with his teeth draining half the contents in a period of thirty-five seconds.

A warm buzz embraced him and when he had finished the wine he went back to his music room where he sat down at his piano and started to compose. He stopped after a few verses and threw the papers to the ground with a growl of frustration. He truly found writer's block to be an intolerable annoyance. The piece called Christine, was still lying on the ground, he picked it up and took out his black-cherry-wood violin.

At fist, when he began to play, the song sounded almost redundantly normal. A beautiful sob-story written with all the anger he possessed, but as time went on the melody became gentler, more like a lullaby. He found his eyes closing involuntarily and his bow moving slowly across the strong silk threads that were the cords. They softened the tune into a balled dreamily floating throughout the room. As the piece grew in volume the music seemed to grow softer still in the way the notes seemed to drip from the page.

When the final cord ended in a sweet low hum, he opened his eyes and put the instrument down slowly as something hot and wet fell down his face. He reached up and discovered, to his horror that he was crying softly. Tears were no stranger to him, particularly on this night, for he had cried many times already in the early hours of the evening. It was the warmth that terrified him, the feeling was foreign to him as the tears he cried up till now had been cold and angry; reminding him of who he was and what kind of life he was doomed to lead.

These tears were ones of some unknown feeling whose name he could not place and found he did not want to explore too closely for fear they would destroy him. He looked down at the music, wondering what was wrong with him that he would write such a gentle melody? He pondered this until it gave him a splitting headache and he had to close his eyes to make it stop. It was not long before he realized that closing his eyes at all had been a mistake. He saw again the girl he could never had on that bed and once again they were sharing passions, only this time she was draped with crimson rose petals and glistening in the light of a glowing fire . His eyes shot open and he wanted nothing more than to take up his needle again and plunge himself into oblivion. He could not however, the little Daaë was awaiting her lesson.


	4. Confusion

**Chapter four**

The sun was pale and cold on that day in spring hardly visible in the foggy morning. The breeze which flew over the rooftops of Paris was cold as it tousled the leafs of a tree slowly waking in a nearby park. They protested with a soft rustle as though they slumbered still and were reluctant to wake. The morning it would seem had been recovering from a restless night for the sun had not yet risen and the moon still hung low. Stars no longer dotted the blue-black sky as it gripped at the lover that was the darkness. It seemed that they were more than a little reluctant to release the other for the sun was in no hurry to rise.

A lark sang softly, a sweet requiem mass for the lovers who would soon be parted. The melody a gentle teardrop of music meant only for the ears of those who could comprehend the truest of sorrows. No one quite understood this like the man who skulked up the pathway to the world he had long deserted. There he made his way to the roof where he stood behind the statue of Apollo's angel his silver eyes glowering in envy at the perfect features forever carved in stone. The man was holding his arms open as he decorative wings splayed open to the darkness as they greeted the misty dawn.

He moaned as the form of the Daaë child appeared to be nestled in the arms of the angel. The smile on his perfect face was soft and seductive as he whispered music to her, more beautiful than her wretched teacher could ever make. He shook his head to clear the image and as it faded away he swore a stream of obscenities he was glad only the moon could hear. He had come here to think, to clear his head of the thoughts that he knew he should not be thinking but apparently that was not going to happen.

The man skulked down from the roof and back to the stage where he found Madame Giry had fallen asleep in one of the folding chairs, her cane on her lap and was snoring loudly.

Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the offensive noise which reminded him blatantly of an angry swine, the masked composer made his way to the rafters. He thought to amuse himself by swinging on the ropes as he had done when he had first come to the opera. That had been twenty years ago when he was a teenager and hopelessly foolish enough to think anyone would ever love him in a romantic way. He looked down at the sleeping ballet mistress, his eyes softening as he thought of how she had natured his dreams so fondly, like a mother placating her son as he prattled on about his future plans.

A loving wife, children... what ridiculous notions!

The softness of his gaze hardened, not in anger, but in pain. She had fostered in him the dreams of any young man, never telling him the harsh reality of the world in which he was condemned to be held a prisoner. A single tear of self-pity dripped down his unmasked cheek and as he brushed it away he discovered it was cold like always. He was horrified to discover that he missed the warmth of the lustful tears from the night before. The man shook his head, this was madness!

He made his way to the ropes and looped his hands around the knots that held them together and expertly did a triple somersault. A smirk came to his lips as he thought of the countless hours he had spent here just swinging about when his inspiration failed him. The darkness in the rafters shielded him as Madame Giry half-woke from a difficult snore and she grunted and closed her eyes again. This made him smile and he swooped down gently, taking an old prop blanket from a production long canceled and draped it over her shoulders. He took the cane from her lap and laid it soundlessly on the stage and bent down intending to kiss her cheek but stopping himself.

She would not like it if she woke to the feel of his malformed lips on her face. He settled for stroking her cheek, to which she opened her eyes and he, not having time to run froze where he was. He expected her to scream or rage at him... but she _smiled. _She smiled and pressed his hand to her cheek, turning her face to kiss his palm. The touch of her lips was a foreign sensation to him as was the caressing pressure of her hand on his. It sent no shocks of pleasure through him and she remained to him as she had always been, a gentle mother and his dearest friend. She seemed to feel the same for when she released him her eyes, while still sleepy were aglow with kind, motherly affection.

Her voice was gentle as she whispered, "Hello, my son."

"Hello Henri--- mamam." said he as he pulled the blanket over her shoulders again tucking it around her torso snugly.

"Now what is it you need at this hour?" she asked through a yawn.

He said nothing but eased her back down so that her head rested on the back of the chair. He fetched a pillow and propped her up slightly resting the back of her head on its suede surface. When she tried to protest, he shushed her beginning to hum a lullaby. Her eyes began to droop shut and she sighed softly as the humming rose into the last lines of the song.

"_Sleep, baby, sleep your father tends the sheep._

_Rest child, for in your dreams you tend the lamb._

_Just as father did, with gentle hands._"

She snored then a soft gurgle of sound telling him she was asleep and he bent down to kiss her cheek unable to stop himself. He heard her sigh when his lips brushed her cheek and he pulled away from her running off with silent footsteps towards the trapdoor at the end which he kicked open on its hinge. Turning as it creaked, he assured himself that the woman was still deeply asleep before dropping through the hole down to the labyrinth by his lake. He rushed to the bank and dunked his head down into the water until he was invisible to the naked eye. He drank deep gulps of the freezing water till he could not breathe. Moments later after he had enough air he guzzled more water until he became ill

When the man was at last able to stop vomiting and had caught his breath he got up and went to his drug cabinet throwing open the doors he discovered he was out of substances. He slammed the doors shut so hard that one of them dented in the polished wood. His silver eyes went to the dent and he pounded the stone wall beneath it until his hand bled crimson visible even through the black leather of his glove. He smiled and licked it dry enjoying his own pain as he drank the blood like it was a fine wine, sucking it till it no longer dripped.

This action, which normally calmed his madness turned out to be a ghastly failure. He screamed in frustration and went to his bedchamber where he searched his drawers for anything that would alleviate his painful madness . There he found the last of his laudanum and drank it the way a man who would die of thirst did water. The bottle clattered from his hand and broke as its glass body hit the stone. He threw off the lid to the side and climbed in clumsily pulling the top in place as he covered himself and slowly dropped off.

He dreamed tonight first of the dark history that was his childhood, the torture, the reviling acts committed by his master. There were many that hurt him, things he had buried in the depths of his mind. Things he sought to forget, none so painful as his mother weeping when her husband left her because he could not stand the sight of the monster he and his dear pretty wife had created out of love. The only child she would ever bare him. It had been his fault, due to complections in birthing him she had been made to have an operation, which while saving her life, prevented her from having more children and so her beloved husband had left her and like always he was to blame.

These nightmares he welcomed in that they were nothing new to him. What he dreamt next however was the true nightmare. The angel on the roof had come to life and the little Daaë was in its arms as she kissed its all-too-perfect mouth. In this dream world his mask had fallen off and he, was the angel. He was kissing her lips, his arms were smooth alabaster and his silver eyes shone beneath a shimmering curtain of raven night-silk down to the small of his back. She buried her face in it and kissed it while his arms crushed her ti him and the stars glimmered in his eyes while hers like fireflies danced under his possessive gaze. She leaned over and kissed him, gripping his hair and his hands held her back returning it while the stars twirled around them as a crimson sun rose behind them .She pulled away from him and smiled caressing the marble lines of his chin before disappearing into the moonlight.

He woke , breathing hard as he wiped the perspiration from his face with the hem of his cloak. The man let out an anguished wail like the creature he was and dropped his face in his hands. These dreams would not leave him in peace, this torment would not end.

He wept in pain and this time his sobs were the rasp of a lover who had been scorned. He did not know why, but he felt as he wept like a lost, heartbroken lover. Once he had calmed himself he was able to climb out of the coffin and walk to his water closet where he stepped in and turned the water in as cold as he could stand it. He turned his face up to the spay, liking the way it calmed the burn of his dreams and stung the wounds of his face. It worked for a moment but then as he became used to the chill it turned softer, reminding him of the feelings of his dreams. Her gentle hands and her soft lips. The man muttered a curse and he reached for the nozzle and turned the water to an almost scalding temperature throwing his mask off so that his face burned in a pain that to you or I would seem unbearable, he however, merely smiled in pleasure.

Surely with this pain assaulting him he would not think about Daaë... surely. He could not have been more wrong, as his body grew accustom to the heat he was able to close his eyes. Big mistake, the moment his eyes saw the inside of their lids they became a theater of what he dreaded most. The image of their bodies glistening as they touched each other in gentle heated passions. Their hands caressing one another as he brought their pleasures to a high-flying end and they slept in together in a lover's embrace. He opened his eyes and sighed, defeated, none of his methods were working something he found taxing,

Turning off the water he went into the dungeon where he kept his weapons. There he found a little silver knife which he ran over his palm hissing as the blade sliced his flesh. He turned his palm over and watched the blood drip from the wound with a relieved sigh as he felt the stress leave him. In the past he had turned to drugs to relive himself but when that did not work, self-mutilation always did. When it had stopped bleeding, he bound it tightly and put on his gloves returning to his piano and to his work.

The song a soft sad lullaby, a scorned lover's tune.


	5. Agony

**Chapter five**

He was shaking like mad as he tore his shirt from his body and tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. Another dream. Another agonizing nightmare of erotic pleasures where he was holding her, kissing her lips, touching her warm body while she made love to him. He found that, when he closed his eyes, he could still smell the lily-water in her hair, taste the nectar that was the juice from her mouth, see her eyes soften to warm honey as she looked at him with tenderness and passion. He could hear her sweet angelic voice whispering soft croons which set him aflame. He could smell her, taste her, feel her, and hear her but it was all a dream... all a painful dream and he had woken up.

The scream that he uttered was a terrible croak which tore at the cords of his throat. He choked and coughed, draining a class of hard whisky to which his stomach emptied itself. Once he had wiped his mouth and rinsed, he drank more alcohol with no reaction. The drinking did not numb his pain, rather it made him warm as a man who brims with need. He cursed and lay down, grabbing his knife and holding it up to the soft glow of the firelight. Its glitter welcoming him, beckoning him with promises of relief and comfort. He gave in to the temptation, drawing the blade across his already wounded palm. Not enough. A second cut. Not enough. He screamed and brought the blade up to his shoulder, bringing it down slowly, very slowly. The pain that this excruciating wound brought him was still not enough and so he tossed down the knife, weeping.

He wanted the pain, wanted the dreams to end, he wanted to die. Taking the candle down from its holder, he touched its flame to his bleeding arm. The searing shock of hot electricity made him scream in torment as the knife glimmered in its cruel light. He lost his nerve and dropped the candle to the wet stones of his home where it was doused and went out in a wisp of gray smoke. The masked man uttered a loud moan and drowned his burning and bloody arm in the lake for several moments before the pain would ease. He removed his arm and lay there on the cold stones of the bank for some time as he fell in and out of sleep. The pain which though dulled was still throbbing in his arm had dizzied him and made him sleepy, and so he slept. And as he slept he dreamed.

It was nothing new, the usual passions and pleasures that were forever beyond his grasp. The bed of silk and velvet, the Apollo's angel... the kiss. Then, as was its habit, it changed. He was walking in a forest where a pearly sunlight drifted down through a canopy of emerald leafs. The sound of someone sobbing came to his ears and there in the clearing was none other than the protagonist of his torment. She wept for no reason he could garner but he found he wanted to pull her into his arms and smooth the dark warm chocolate ringlets from her face. He head then a soft violin in the background as it played a song which he had never heard, it was sweet and soft... a lullaby perhaps.

He turned and then saw that it was _her_ was who played her features soft and childishly pretty the young girl cried out with what seemed like remorse and reached for the music as it faded. He smiled tearfully as the last cords of the music disappeared into the trees of the emerald forest. He had never heard anything so beautiful. So soft and yet strangely familiar as though it had been written for his ears alone. The girl buried her face in her hands and cried, great racking sobs that broke him in a way that even his genius intellect could not fathom. She looked at him and then without warning threw herself into his arms and held onto him. He brought his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She then turned into the vixen he remembered as she kissed him hard and shoved him down on the soft mass as she undressed him desperately and fulfilled his every fantasy.

The Phantom woke then and with tears of sadness blurring his vison, decided that he could no longer bear it. He had to see her, just once he had to see the girl who haunted him so. He rose to his feet and dawned his cloak and mask before going up to the outside world. The masked man made his way to his two-way mirror where he stepped through and skulked his way up the path to her room. She lay there sleeping soundly on her little cot, heedless of the snores of her roommates and the fat one, Bethie, talking gibberish. He watched her a moment, watched the peaceful softness of her features as she slept, blissfully unaware of the silver eyes gazing down so intently upon her.

His eyes moved to her lips, there he noticed how pail and bloodless they were, but also how beautiful they could look with the right nurturing . How rosy and soft they would look and how moist and full they would seem as they glistened in the glow of candlelight . No, think of something else... anything else! He tried to make his eyes look around the room, he focused for a moment on the ugly fat lump that was Bethie and tried to think just how disgusting she looked with spit gurgling in her mouth when she snored and the drool pooling on her pillow.

It worked only for a moment until he heard a soft sigh coming from the bed. He turned back to the little Daaë who had rolled onto her back. Her mouth was slightly parted as she moaned and took in a deep breath. The sound made him think of her sleeping in his arms after they coupled. He thought of how swollen they looked in his dreams, how they tasted... so soft and sweet. No! Stop thinking of her lips damn you! He sighed rubbing his unmasked cheek, closing his eyes as the never-ending torment began.

He was lying in a bed with her half on top him, they had just finished their lovemaking. Candlelight, glowed on her cream-colored eyelids which underneath rested those firelight irises. Her curly brown tresses were splayed across his chest and he toyed with it the way a cat does with a ball of string, twirling it between his fingers. She sighed and her head lolled onto his chest so that she faced him, he bent down and kissed her...

His eyes shot open and he discovered, to his utter horror that he was, in fact kissing the girl. He had barely touched her just a light brush but it did not matter, he yanked himself away and ran as fast as he could to the rafters where he intended to go back to his home but found he could not. This brought a snarl from his mouth and a murderous glint to the raindrop orbs and so he set about looking for someone to kill. For some time he had no success and this irritated him to no end, then he came upon Joseph Bouquet.

The stagehand limped drunkenly along the rafters where he was setting the Roman castle for Act I in place for tomorrow's performance. His mouth turned upward and he smirked, this was too easy. He then saw the little Jammes coming, her forget-me-not eyes were innocent as she danced across the stage in a perfect pirouette and she saw Joseph swaying on the rafter where he fell down and hit his head with a loud thump. The little girl gasped and ran to his side touching his face and breathing air into his mouth trying to revive him. He woke and, like the pig he was took advantage of the child , stealing the girl's first kiss.

He watched them from the girl from the shadows and saw her cup his head and hold him while she kissed him back. So, it was not as he had suspected, they were lovers. He covered his mouth to keep from retching in disgust, why anyone would want to be a lover to that man was,___beyond _even his intellect. He heard her murmur for Joseph to continue his ministrations, but the man was so drunk that when he removed his trousers he began to move roughly Erik heard her moan and he had to look away to keep from becoming ill.

Dropping to his knees he crawled along the cat-walk to find a man who was moaning as he interfered with himself. He would do. Coming up behind the man he took his head in his hands almost gently and crooned to him hypnotically. The man sighed and ran his hand along the blade of his knife as he brought the edge to his victim's throat and slit it slowly sighing with release as he heard the man make a soft gurgling sound as the blood poured from his mouth. His killer tore the mask from his face and forced the man 's head up so that their eyes locked with one another as he revealed the scars . The man tried to scream, but a strangled choke was all he could manage.

The Phantom silenced him by forcing his mouth on his as he took in the man's dying breath and drank the blood from his mouth. He pulled away and licked his lips, the pain had been appeased and with it, his need to kill. He tied a rope firmly around his victim's throat making sure to hide the slit and placed the other end in his still-malleable hand. When the other workers came to do their jobs in the morning, they would think that the poor wretch had committed suicide. He left the body there and would have gone straight home had a very troubling thought. When the workers moved the corps they would see the cut and then they would suspect something. He could not have that.

He turned and stole a spindle of clear thread and a needle from the stagehand's cart and stitched him up, the stitches so fine they were invisible. Once his work was complete he turned and left him there. He arrived at his home and decided that he would treat himself to a glass of warm wine and a good book, so he warmed his drink and made his selection of Beauty and the Beast. Taking a seat on the sofa he sipped the amber liquid and began to read the old fairytale grinning sarcastically at the irony in it. The wine eased him and soon he, without realizing it had fallen asleep. He sighed and moaned when a vison of the story began to appear in his mind. The beast was he, and he lay gasping for his last breath as the beauty, that was Daaë kissed him and held him, caressed his face. He then rose to his feet and was healed... their lips met.

Uttering a strangled sob he woke and in his fit knocked the half-full glass of wine to the floor. Tears of pain dripped out of his eyes as he made his way to the lake and dropped at its banks from weakness, letting out a terrible sob like the howl of a wounded dog as he gazed upon the grotesque image of his reflection gazing back at him.

"I am no Prince, I am Quasimudo . . . " he mumbled as he noticed the copy of _The Hunchback of Notre Dome_ sitting atop the coffee table. He reached up and ran his long fingers over the faded leather cover of the novel before curling them around it like a serpent. He then made a sound of disgust before dragging it down to his lap and staring at it. On the cover, the title was imprinted in faded cursive, but beneath it was the illustration of a man of ugly features, and a woman of beauty. Next to that was a man of handsome features, who was holding the girl to him. Erik let a pair of tears trickle down his grimy cheeks, before giving a cry of a banshee and flinging the book into the lake. The composer took up his knife again and this time tore his mask off. He took the blade to his face and ruined further the scars that already burned,

He crawled to his mirror and watched the blood trickle down to his lips and uttered an anguished cry.


	6. Watching

**Chapter six**

The sunset glowed dimly as it turned to the softer blue shade of twilight dusk as a few stars began to peek out of the still sunlit sky . He hid behind Apollo's angel and watched as the girl of his dark fantasies came out to watch the scene. She was smiling softly and the orange-blue glow made her teeth seem bright, like a freshly polished pearl. His lips tingled awkwardly at the memory of the kiss he had given her the night before and he had to look away from her. He had not meant to take such liberties with her, hell—he had not even known he was doing it until it was too late. He groaned softly, disgusted with himself. She turned and he covered his mouth, but not quickly enough to muffle the sound.

Damn! He thought over what he had done and what his options were now. It would be so easy to use ventriloquism and make her think it was merely the wind she heard. Or at least it would have been had there been any blasted wind tonight! Luckily she did not seem to notice that much for she shrugged her shoulders and went back to watching the scene. It was that shrug which caused him to wince. He had the idea that he should go to her and rub those shoulders, to feel how smooth her cream-colored skin was under the light fabric of her ruffled muslin gown.

His eyes were drawn involuntarily to the lace which crowned her throat becoming unreasonably jealous of the way they brushed her skin. He found himself thinking of his fingers running over her neck, wondering how it would feel. His hand reached down to the crotch of his slacks, no that was no good... it would not do for him to pleasure himself here, not when the object of his torment was so nearby. He found his eyes looking towards her as she began to hum softly. His eyes went to the healthy expanse of skin in the front of her gown and he found himself watching the way her breasts moved up and down with her breathing. He cursed, realizing that she had fallen asleep.

Watching her made him drowsy and soon his own eyes were drooping of their own accord. The next thing he knew he was sitting by a fireplace in the library of a mansion, a book lying face-down on his lap. He looked out onto the balcony which thereupon stood the little Daaë gazing wonderingly at the crescent moon. He rose to his feet and went to her, holding her shoulders from behind. She smiled softly as he crooned out a whispered song in her ear. His hands slid to her breast his fingers stroked them and she pulled his face down kissing him deeply....

He woke then and felt his hand going down once more to the center of his pants. His mind told him that he should not be doing this, that it was wrong especially with a young girl so close, but he could not stop himself. He needed a release from his lust and fast, his hand caressed him and he cried out softly when he felt it happen. His eyes filled with tears, what was wrong him? Why could he not just look at her like he did all the others in the opera? Just mere tools for his own means.

He did not understand. He looked up at the sky and turned his middle finger up at it, an insult meant for god. He loathed god and all those associated with him, that man had sick sense of humor. It was driving him to madness and he did not appreciate this at all. Having thoughts of a young girl a sleeping girl nonetheless. His raindrop irises roamed back to her of there own accord and he took in her face. She was a child in every respect and yet she gave him more urges than one thousand seductresses could stir inside him. This was not good at all, he could not remain her voice instructor if he kept having such thoughts of his pupil. If he could not be her teacher he certainly could not be her **angel. **To think that an angel would have such impure thoughts of his charge would surely not help him in the end.

His eyes closed... this had to stop.

The fantasies were about to begun would it not have been fir the soft rush of cold air which hit him like a smack to the face. He stumbled backwards and clung to the edge of the statue to keep from falling and for some reason was reminded briefly of his mother. He thought about how cold her hands were, how she never touched him lest it was to strike him or give him another mask so that she would not have to look at the thing which had ruined her life. She had been beautiful, a blonde beauty with eyes as silvery as dove's downy feathers. He had inherited those eyes, the only beauty she had given him. That was one of the many reasons he found looking in a mirror so painful, his eyes when sad or angry, were to him a reflection of the only emotions he had ever seen from her.

He shook his head and gazed at the sleeping young woman who had yawned and was stretching. The movement caused her gown to slip a little further down her shoulder revealing its curve so that he had to close his eyes and curse viciously under his breath. She shivered, moaning and he felt himself creeping up behind her and stealthily removed her cloak, laying it over her. He should have known better than to be so foolish, his hand brushed her shoulder as he tucked it over her. She mumbled incoherently and pulled at the cloak over her as he pulled his hand away. He left her there, deep in her rest and totally unaware of his presence, a soft smile on her childlike face.

As he made his way in the theater he noticed a strange feeling in his hand. A kind of warmth that spread up his arm and to the blade of his shoulder. He did not like it, and he closed his eyes trying to make it stop. The warm feeling spread into his chest as he pictured her sleeping there on the roof as she watched the sunset and he imagined himself holding her in his arms covered in nothing but their cloaks hers atop them and his their bed. When he woke again he was leaning with his back against the wall and groaning as his hand relieved him of his pain. He kept at it until he felt the final warmth happening and he groaned dropping to a slumped over sitting position leaning the back of his head against the cold cement of the wall.

His eyes closed and he heaved a deep sigh, disgusted with himself. He had never turned to pleasuring himself before but now he could not seem to stop himself. The dreams just kept coming and coming each night more erotic than the next, each aftereffect more painful than the one before. He felt his eyes fill with tears as he remembered the old priest, father Mansart telling him that any man who had thoughts such as these for a child is dancing at the gates of hell itself. If this was true than god was really sick to be giving him dreams that he knew would doom him to eternal damnation.

Not that the idea really troubled him, for surely hell could not be any worse than his life on earth. God was merely giving him a taste of his version of eternity... by putting him in a living hell. He cursed as he got to his feet and swept back to his trapdoor, his mind taunting him with images of her, one from every dream he had be plagued with. No, he had to stop thinking of her, he had too... he could not. The Phantom made his way to his halls and out one of his secret doors to the streets of Paris glad now that night had fallen.

He quickly made his way to the alleyway where he found the apothecary, a gruff and dirty old brute of a man who would give you anything you asked for, for the right price. The man grunted at him when he tipped his bowler hat in mock-respect and then asked him what he wanted. He selected a bottle of morphine, three ounces of crystal opium, two bottles of laudanum, and a pipe of smoke-weed, paid the man who grinned at him with a sickly smile of three yellow and black teeth. He smiled back, hiding his disgust and left.

He touched the crystal to his nose and breathed in deeply becoming dizzy almost at once. His hands groped the dark and he cackled like a maniac as he made his way to a broken down shack where a man and some girls were waiting on the crumbling steps. He went up to the man and smiled at him as the two became engrossed in small talk. He could feel the girls' eyes on him, no doubt they noticed his fine clothes and were trying to gouge out how rich he was and who would get him. The man with them was smiling as he whispered secretively in his ear, he nodded not really listening to him but putting on a show.

The man made a gesture towards the fourteen or so young women behind him and nodded. The all stood in a straight line behind him and tried to put on their prettiest smiles. Truth-be-told, he found none of them particularly appealing and made a point of telling the man so. He did not seem to be phased by this and after dismissing the others led him inside the crumbling building continuing to sweet talk him as he set him down on a nearly-broken chair. His nose wrinkled as he dimly noted the room smelled of rot and other unpleasant things like piss and alcohol and even the faintest hint of vomit. He without knowing it began to tap the table impatiently his mind automatically making up rythems which he began to hum softly. The man then returned and trailing behind him was, what he guessed was the, "new" girl.

She was indeed very pretty, long soft hair which was auburn and eyes which were green as a forest. She was a freckled child, but only on her cheeks adding a strange appeal to her. Her master made a gesture for him to come forward and nodded as if to tell him that he could touch her. He did, one hand across her cheek and she closed her eyes as if frightened. He heard her master telling her to be a good girl for the man and then told him that he could leave. She took his arm timidly and offered him a quiet smile which he did not return as he led her up the street to a shabby inn not far from the old shack. He liked this inn, knew the innkeeper would not mind one bit if he brought a street girl with him as most of her customers did. When he brought her in the woman smiled, received her pay and showed them to their room.

He saw her shaking with fear and this was no surprise to him. This girl looked to be fifteen, a child and an inexperienced one at that, younger than Christine. It did not matter to him any more as he turned down the light and went to her running his hands over her cheeks as he kissed her. She gasped in surprise as he deepened it and reached down to place his hand over her left breast as he lowered her to the bed and kissed her hard.

"Oh Christine..." he moaned as he caressed her.

"My name is Cara..." she protested.

"No, tonight you are Christine." he said.

He kissed her hard as he undressed her and then quickly undressed himself. He lay atop her and fulfilled his lust until at last his mask fell off. She tried to scream but he covered her mouth with his own as he at last discovered that she was a virgin. It did not matter, he finished it, liking the way she screamed as he pulled away and got her first good look at his face. She screamed then and he gave her a sickly smile as he reached down and took her neck in his hand breaking it as he stole her dying breath from her lungs with a forceful kiss and came at last.

He got up and left her there in the bed, not caring who found her. When he left the inn the keeper was asleep and he came outside and got sick in her garden. He had finally done it, he had finally went over the edge and took his pleasures from a girl even as he killed her. There was no going back now, he was doomed. He took a coach back to the opera where he found the young miss Daaë still asleep and as he hid behind the angel watching her, he wept.

**A quick note: I now have a Poll on my page and if you like this story please vote to tell me which of my stories you want me to write next.**

**Thank you,**

**OFR**


	7. His Triumph

**Chapter seven**

The masked man sighed, rubbing his temples and feeling quite literally bored out his skull. He had spent the night composing and doing other odd things such as cleaning, cooking dinner, and so on. A soft clunking noise assaulted his ears as he was about to go to the water closet and clean the grime that lathered his hair. He sighed, another thing he hated was the roof's taking pleasure in leaking all over the place at least three times a week. Making a mental note to fix that later he climbed into the little room and turned on the nozzle making sure to turn it to the right temperature and standing under the spigot washed himself with carbolic soap. He came out then and dressed in a maroon tunic, complete with white neck-bonnet, black slacks, and burgundy mask.

He then heard a soft scuttling noise and bending down he discovered, much to his annoyance, a rat was chewing at the toe of his shoe. With a soft growl he kicked it and when it was down, choked it to death. He sighed, these rats were really starting to get on his nerves, this being the third he had killed this evening and the fifteenth today. Where was that bloody rat-catcher when you need him? He decided to go investigate and so he turned up the path, expecting to find the man singing creakily to himself like the drunken old fool that he was, but instead what he found was something utterly unusual.

There was no rat-catcher there at all, rather he was in the wine-cellar, drunker than he cared to think about, and with him was a dumpy whore. She was, while not pretty, a seemingly young woman a little younger than spinster age and from the look of it was _very _expensive. Her clothes were made of silks and taffeta and her nails were clean and polished. He crinkled his brow in confusion, he did pay the man a good living but certainly not enough to warrant pleasures from a woman as expensive as this one seemed to be. The couple--- or rather the woman and her client seemed oblivious to his presence, and as she continued her work he had to run to the other side and throw up so violently that no sound came out as he did. He then slumped back to his hiding place and watched the old lech laugh as he came on the girl, yanking her head down and kissing her.

They finished their rendezvous and he saw the girl hold out her hand for the money. Her client nodded drunkenly, stood up, smacked the girl's rump, and took out a leather purse. His eyes blazed, that was _his _purse... that bastard was stealing form him! He swooped out from the shadows and caught the old man's head between his palms and pressed his fingers hard on the pulse-point of his neck. His victim gurgled and sputtered as blood filled his mouth, he showed no mercy and gnashing his teeth he pressed harder until the blood soaked his fingers. Only when the man chocked and went limp in his arms did he stop, but he did not place him down until he was sure he was dead.

The girl, who had remained silent and petrified the entire time, tried to scream as he made his way towards her. He was too quick however and forced his mouth on hers with a bruising kiss. She yelped and pushed at him trying to get away but he held fast to her head and made the kiss savagely painful. His hands roamed over her breasts and he pushed her up against the cold stones of the wall behind her, stripped her and took his pleasures. As he did so he banged her head against the wall over and over, she wanted to steal from him? Very well then he would steal from her in turn, he tensed soon and finished it, bashing her head against the wall, killing her. He kissed her once, almost tenderly as she died and dropped her body beside the rat-catcher's leaving them to rot.

Picking up his purse, he restored the money to it and decided that he needed some fresh air and a drink. So he left the corridors to the empty streets of Paris where he found his favorite bar and stepped inside. The bar-matron, Sarah was more than welcoming as she hung his cloak and escorted him to his favorite chair in an isolated corner. He selected a flask of Irish whisky and two shots of Scottish brandy, with a glass of the finest wine in the tavern. She looked at him for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and had her daughter Margot, bring him his order. He downed the shots and quickly finished the whisky, but took his time sipping the wine as he enjoyed the warmth that embraced him.

The liquor began to take affect and caused him to become sleepy so he set the wine glass on the table and closed his eyes. There were no dreams of her this time, rather he dreamt of a beautiful song that he had written... in blood. Not his own blood but the virgin's blood of the innocent girl he had killed in his lustful passions. He smiled in his sleep, liking this dream very much. When he woke again the lights of the tavern had been dimmed and someone had put a blanket over him. He took it off, finished the rest of his wine, and left with a tip of his bowler hat and a smile for the women who giggled stupidly.

He was walking home when his acute hearing picked up a soft rustling sound coming from the alley. His curiosity got the better of him in his slightly-intoxicated state and he crept up the path invisible in the thick darkness. The noise, he discovered was coming from the nearby trash-can and when he looked inside to see a little black kitten who stared up at him with wide blue eyes. He studied the creature, his first instinct being to just turn and walk away but finding that he could not. The more he looked at the little thing the more he pitied it, now normally he would have killed the thing for causing him to feel such unwanted emotions... but he controlled himself this time.

The kitten mewed at him softly and he thought unexpectedly about how cute it was and how absolutely.... _pathetic _it looked. There was no other way to described it, the creature's ribs were showing and it seriously needed a wash and a combing. He smirked and thought to himself what a lucky find this was for him being as he killed the rat-catcher and now needed someone to clear them off.

Plus, the cat wouldn't steal from him, he reached down and picked it up discovering that it was a male and carried it off. The kitten purred softly and snuggled him an action which he found very irritating to say the least. He covered its mouth to make it stop meowing while he carried him down to his cave. The animal was not fond of this apparently, for it bit him and he cursed throwing it to the floor where it pissed all over his shoes. He swore and struck it so hard that it whimpered pitifully and crawled towards him with watery eyes as if begging his forgiveness. The Phantom sighed and bent over petting its head.

He did not realize how hard he had hit the kitten until he saw the red drop of blood welling under his eye. Taking out his handkerchief he gently mopped it up whilst the poor creature cried from pain. His eyes closed and suddenly he remembered his most painful childhood memory..._Sasha_. He remembered the hours of sitting with her and telling her the most elaborate tall-tales he could think of, or sleeping in her doghouse when his mother had banished him from the house for any reason she could think of, sometimes for no reason at all and how Sasha , always his loyal friend would sleep curled beside him, her fur keeping him warm.

A single cold tear made its way down his cheek and the kitten looked up and licked it away. He could not help himself then, as the memory of Sasha doing the exact same thing flooded back to him, he wept. The kitten as it would appear did not like this, because it leapt on his lap and pawed at his chest incessantly and licked all the way up the unmasked side of his face and back down again. He laughed then, finding the sound painful to his throat so used to crying and screaming in pain and the cat purred. He scooped him up and carried him to the living room where he lit a fire and put his new rat-catcher on the carpet.

"So, I guess you need a name then." said he. The cat meowed agreeably. "All right then... how about Aaron?" the cat hissed. "No? All right then, Jacques?" Another hiss. "What would you suggest then hmm?" the cat leapt to his feet and went to his piano where he knocked down one of the discarded music scores. He swore and picked it up. The piece was a balled, a dark lullaby that told of the story of the angel of death. "Elijah?" the kitten purred sweetly. "Right then, " he said, "Elijah it is." He petted his head and got him some milk and a bit of left-over fish from the night before and left him to his meal.

Realizing then that Elijah had no bed, he went to the chamber in the uttermost back of his halls. There he found the bed, Sasha's bed, he felt his eyes watering as he gazed at it. It was the only thing he took with him when he had run away from home twenty-seven years ago today, the last memory he had of the only true mother he ever had. He shook his head and brought the basket out to the now sleeping Elijah and placed him on the cushion. Elijah woke slightly and looked at him through bleary eyes, purring softly as he covered him up with Sasha's favorite blanket. He turned to leave but the kitten meowed softly and pawed at his arm... pawed at his arm, just like Sasha.

He smacked its hand away with a hard slap and then when it whimpered sighed and kissed his paw. It cried out when he touched it and he realized that he had made it bleed again. He bent over the cat and gathered it up in his arms while Elijah looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. Holding the creature to his chest he took a stip of white silk and tied it around the injured paw and kissed it tenderly. The kitten meowed softly and he shushed him with a forefinger to his little mouth (which he felt obligated to lick) and began to hum softly, putting the kitten up so that its head rested on the blade of his shoulder. He turned his head to face the kitten and had to stifle his smile as his mouth opened in a yawn too wide for his little mouth and placed him back in the basket, covering him.

Tears of sadness dripped from his eyes as he came into his bedchamber, **_Sasha..._** he took out his knife, no too gentle. He took up his whip, yanked off his shirt, beating himself until he could hardly stand. The masked man dropped to his knees and took up the knife again, slicing his way viciously down his already bleeding chest. He had tied a scarf over his mouth and he screamed into it, biting down so hard his gums bled and soaked through the fabric. He tortured himself till he had no more strength to do so, and even then it was not enough. On his bedside table, was half a glass of unfinished wine from the night before, he weakly took the mask from his face and slowly dripped the alcohol on his wounds. He held the glass away from him after each drop, letting it trickle down his face over and over till he tasted blood with the wine, and the salt of his tears.

It was then that a soft bell-like sound came to his ears, someone was singing. He listened for a moment, and discovered that it was his pupil. He closed his eyes and listened to her, liking the way his chest ached with the pain of his cuts and face. She was singing Elissa's aria from Act III and as he climbed into his coffin and took up his laudanum bottle he heard the final lines:

"_We never said, our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea..._

_But please promise me that sometimes, you will think..."_

He listened for a moment praying she would get this right. She had struggled with this part in the past and he had really gotten sick of teaching her the same thing over and over again. He heard her go up and down the scale and then... it came...

"_Of me!"_

She had done it! He smiled and took his morphine and his sleeping drug and slipped away, a closed-mouth smile curving his mouth.

She was ready...


	8. La Daaë

**Chapter eight**

The night was a dimly lit one, soft and whispering to the shadowy figures of men and their lovers who were long passed in this life. They were delighting in the darkness of the evening, heedless of the unseeing eyes which gazed at them so intently in the night. Those eyes of the children, longing for one last ray of sunlight, that of the young lovers who smiled in anticipating their passions and late night consummations, or the elders who looked on in wizened fear of that ever present threat of eternal rest that comes with aging. There was one man, however who gazed at them in a very different way...

He stood atop Apollo's angel gazing fondly at the moon, shrouded in a smoky silver cloud to create a picturesque vision that belonged wholly to springtime. There was a mystery to the picture that he was well acquainted with...the prospect of the unknown. He grimaced as he gazed upon the pearl of the sky, noting its beauty so famed in th e works of the poets and dreamers. Tears came to his eyes, no one would fame him so in great works if only to make him what everyone knew him to be. Darkness was pooling now as twilight bid the sun to rest and it shut its eyes to sleep till the early hours of the morning soon to come.

The moon appeared to glow brighter in the deep blue of the evening, as if finally woken from its drowsing. It looked down upon him and he stared back, its eyes sympathetic and soft in the emptiness of the sky, his eyes wondering and envious. A single lonely star flickered above, a teardrop to fall on the chilly heart of stone. He eyed that star piteously and reached up as if to hold it in his palm and closed his hand. The dark sky was thick now with fog so soupy that its silver shade was nearly deepened to black. His dove-gray eyes glinted as the final ray of visible moonshine lighted his hair, black as the shroud that bullied it.

When the light had disappeared completely he felt as though his dark mood was fulfilled and then fittingly a light drizzle began. It was as though the moon wept for its onlooker, he grimaced and leapt down from the statue staring at the city streets and all their flickering lights, he saw the people in buggies and the aristocrats in their horse-drawn carriages. He wrinkled his nose in utter disgust, those fools were blind and never to know the true meaning of beauty! They were too caught up in the throws of their material lives, their pathetic lives. He would never be one of them, never, and the more he thought of it the less he cared. There was nothing particularly... _remarkable_ about being counted among the mortals now that he cared to take a good look at their way of all, he mused, mortality was not everlasting and if he had been cursed to mingle with them then he'd have good reason to fear for his sanity .

They were mere puppets, their minds malleable with the confusion of their world. That was all they were, tools like clay that he could mold to whichever form he wished. He could make them and then he could destroy them, any time he wished.

His eyes softened as a wicked closed mouth smile curved his upper lip and he began to laugh softly. The knowledge that he had mastered this power over them made him sinfully joyful and he began to cackle with the pleasure of it. The rain had darkened the night and a whistling breeze took the sound and carried it over the members of the human falling on the ears of those lesser beings drowned into softness by the rythem of the rain, becoming a wisp of laughter to mingle high above with the silent voices of the shadow figures in the sky.

The dark sky began turning to the soft red of the sunrise and the sleepy moon began to fade into the light as the lovers bid farewell to one another until the coming of the pending eve. He watched for a moment, enjoying the spectacle. How strangely pleasurable one found the sunrise now that he knew he was to be immortal. The rain had ceased to fall and as he stood high above the city he felt as though he had conquered them all.

He chuckled and decided that it was time he got home and fed Elijah. He turned and started back towards the door leading down from the roof, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him. The kitten mewed softly and he briefly pondered how it was that the little creature was able to get up here as he scooped it up and carried it back home. When he arrived he discovered that his house was a mess, the curtains were torn, sheets of music were scattered everywhere, there were ink splatters of red and black on nearly all the furniture, and to top it off his piano newest concerto had a very distinct odor to it. Cat piss.

His first instinct was to kill the creature, that was until he saw the pattern of dead rats littering the floor. He realized then that he had only taught the kitten to kill the rats and made a mental note to teach it to get rid of them once he had cleaned up this mess and then began his task. Elijah, for his part was practicing his rodent-extermination skills by chasing a small mechanical mouse, which Erik had built for him out of salvage parts gears and rom other failed projects. His master had to smirk as his furry ward began to chase the toy and become thoroughly agitated with the thing for constantly escaping his grasp. He laughed as the kitten issued a soft perturbed growl and went back to his basket in defeated, sulking.

Some hours later, when his task was finally complete he decided to go up and listen to the goings-on of the opera. He fed Elijah, made sure he was asleep after his nightly combing, and went up to the overhang behind the stage where the managers M. Firmin and M. Andre were discussing the lead for tonight's performance. Firmin was of course the one in control as he pressured the other into letting the toad that was Carlotta play the lead and the other being the gullible push-over that he was, agreed with him .

The spectator wrinkled his nose in utter disgust at the thought of that wretched cow ruining the show when his pupil could make it shimmer with a song pure enough for the angels. He had to stop this and he had to do it quickly lest the opera be ruined. His eyes followed Firmin as he made his way towards the dressing room that the creature inhabited and he followed him, curious as to what that foppish bullfrog was up to. He saw the man go into the room and through a small peep-hole in the door watched him bend over her hand and place a kiss that was far more than formal on it. He heard her giggle as he finished the gesture and he had to try hard not to choke and give away his position.

They exchanged a few endearments and banter which belonged to lovers and he had to cover his mouth as bile rose in his throat. What they did next gave him the feeling that no amount of morphine would ever make him well again. The man leaned forward and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear as he pulled her into a hard lusty kiss which she returned with the same emotion. She groaned and he had too look away as he began to undress her and she started to moan and toss her head back as he carried her to the sofa. He did not need to see any more, he already knew what they were doing. The masked man now knew how she kept her position as prima donna, she was the head manager's lover. Needless to say, he found this beyond revolting and as he made his way to the trap door he had to swallow vomit.

The man was home now and found that Elijah was no longer sleeping, rather he was content to amuse himself by chewing on one of his master's failed pieces. He did not really mind as he had been planning to throw it out anyway, still he was in no mood to be cleaning bits of paper tonight. Reaching down he scooped the kitten up, who for his part was more than happy to receive the attentions of his master, purred and curled on his shoulder. Chuckling he carried his pet into the sitting room, lit a fire in the hearth, and sat in one of the high-backed armchairs , Elijah on his lap. He ran his long fingers through the kitten's black fur, stroking him and soon the kitten purred out soft snores.

He would have smiled, had it not been for the yawn which tore through him at that moment. Shaking himself was of no avail to him and soon he was sleeping a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. When he woke again it was night once more, and darkness soothed his pounding head as two little paws pressed at his chest. He sighed and set the cat down and got him milk and cream for breakfast. He left him then and went to the theater where he found the little Daaë talking animatedly to a ruggedly handsome young stagehand named Leonardo. They laughed and he kissed her hand in a gentlemanly farewell complete with a wave as he was ordered by his superiores to return to his work.

His eyes never left her face as a slight blush turned her pail cheeks to a deeper shade of white with a hint of pink. He growled and turned away as he began to feel the pressure that he so loathed. It came with a new emotion, one he had never experienced. He turned his eyes to the young man who had so carelessly flirted with her and the emotion grew stronger. The pain constricted his chest and with it came a murderous rage.

The little Daaë was humming a sweet balled, perhaps a Swedish lullaby her father had sung to her when she was a babe. He then saw that the boy was setting up the set for Marguerite's first aria, he smirked, this was too easy, he slipped his lasso out of his cloak and silently, expertly, slipped the ring under his boot and tripped him. The boy let go of the rope to break his fall and in doing so caused the screen to drop on the girl. Everyone yelled at him as he began to apologize over and over as he cranked it back up and the young Giry took his pupil to her quarters . The Phantom smiled evilly to himself.

"The ghost made me do it! It was no fault of mine!" the young man was arguing with another old worker. The other gentleman was of no mind to listen and left him alone to stew in his own guilt. Erik swung down beside the boy and placed an arm over his shoulder.

"You say that the accident was the work of a ghost?" asked he, in a seemingly curious voice.

The boy, upon turning saw his masked face and immediately began to backpedal, "N-no sir just me being clumsy."

"Ah... but then how am I the one to blame?"

"S-sorry sir... it w-won't happen again..."

"No... I think not..." he whispered and took his knife from his pocket and jammed it in the boy's stomach as he tied his mouth with his handkerchief to muffle the screams as he began to strip him of his clothes. He began with a simple castration and then he set to work at running the knife over him, slowly disrobing his victim's body pf skin enjoying the pain that was reflected in his face and the muffled pleas that came form him. The other stage-hands paid him no heed, probably thinking he was at himself as was common practice in their line of work .

He finished his work and took the man, still breathing to Carlotta's dressing room where he tied him to her sofa with a smirk. With a little note wishing her a good performance from the Opera Ghost. He then went home feeling unusually cheered, there was no way she would be able to sing tomorrow night as soon as she saw his little gift... and with her out of the way he could open up the limelight for the little Daaë. No not little Daaë.

La Daaë...


	9. Engaged

**Chapter nine**

The performance had gone splendidly and Erik was now sitting on his piano bench throughly aggravated. His pupil had been in a word... sublime and due to his little present the night before the Toad Princess had not been there to ruin it and the Frog Prince had also been absent so his puppet had acquired a substitute puppeteer, him. The Daaë child had made the men catch their lovers as they fainted in the isles and the grandfathers hand their aging spouses their kerchiefs as the tears of heart-warmth and nostalgia trickled slowly down their wrinkled cheeks. There were cries of praise and too many ovations for him to count as she remained on her knees until they had finished.

He had gone to her room to congratulate his charge on a job well done only to find her weeping. At first this brought a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth for he had assumed that the tears were ones of joy but upon closer inspection he discovered them to be the exact opposite. When he had inquired as to what the reason for her sobs had been she had given him an answer that made him recoil in shock and was what now caused him to be so bitter in the aftermath of his great triumph. He rubbed his unmasked cheek, sighing.

She had received a letter from her father as she had once a month for the last three months she had since she had come to the theater. While this had not seemed at all out of the ordinary, it was the content of the letter that was his poltergeist. It would seem that M. Daaë was ailed by a rare exotic fever from somewhere in Spain, which he had most likely gotten some time ago on his travels. There was no medicine for this fever, there was no cure and apparently this strand was very fatal. The symptoms were much like that of leprosy, very slow in coming and take several years to manifest themselves.

He was now almost on his deathbed and as such was planning to marry her off. She was to know nothing of her fiancé until the wedding and once she was wed she would have to leave her career behind. He had hidden his shock well and soothed her with several lullabies until she had quite literally clocked out on the floor. The Phantom had left her there just as Mme. Giry came in to help her out of her costume and clicking her tongue thrice over carried the child to her bed and stripped her while taking great care to not disturb her rest. He had gone home then and took care of Elijah, who had now learned to put the rats in a little pile in a corner which his master had set in place for that purpose.. He fed him, bathed him, (he had to do this twice because his pet would not sit still the first time,) and set him in his basket stroking him until he fell asleep.

Erik was then able to mull over what she had told him and he found that he did not like the news at all. Her marriage would mean the end of her days as the diva and more importantly the loss of her voice to him. He could not let that happen.

He would not let all his hard work go to waste just because her father was inclined to end her career for his own purposes . The composer rubbed his temple and moaned as he felt a headache begin to lay its roots in the base of his skull. Getting up he went and took an aspirin and then went to his music room to find his sketchbook. He found it resting atop his violin case, when he opened it he found every vision of her that he had seen in his dreams, the forest, the angel, the bed, the balcony all of them. Tossing the book aside he growled in frustration and muttered a nasty curse, he should be rejoicing, he would finally be rid of his obsessive antagonist. Why did the thought of losing her haunt him so?

A scream of anger erupted from his throat and in that moment he brought his hands to his face and tore his mask off. He gripped his face so tightly his knuckles turned white and then red from bleeding. His fingers bled and so did his face, he drew his palm away he breathed deeply comforted by the burn. A single drop of crimson liquid fell on the book and bending down he smeared it skillfully all over the left side of his figure's face. He smirked, now the picture was correct. The smirk did not last however for she still kissed him in the vision and now her hand cupped his deformity. It was now more tormenting than it had been before and he wanted to rip the cursed thing to shreds but found that his hand would not heed his mind. Tears came to his eyes and he turned away.

He dropped to his knees and silently wept as he took up his knife and looked into the silver blade. No, not this time, he reached up and grabbed some leftover whisky and bit his wrist till he broke the skin just slightly and dipped his finger into the glass dripping it on the cut. He hissed at the burn and then took his knife and slit his palm open slowly and dipped his whole hand into the cup so that it felt as though it were engulfed in fire. He lay there with his hand burning until he cried out and in doing so woke Elijah who trotted into the room as fast as his little legs could carry him, hissed at the whisky glass and knocked it over with an expertly smooth pounce, before coming over to lick his master's injured hand.

Erik moaned and opened his eyes to find the kitten now sitting on his chest purring as he nuzzled him. With his good hand he stroked him and then got up to bandage his injury, his pet close at his heels when he did so. Once he had finished he picked up his kitten who happily curled into the crook of his arm and purred as he carried him back to bed. Elijah mewed softly as if to request a stroking and he obliged him with a scratch behind the ears and a lullaby and soon the cat was sleeping/

He then went up to the surface of the opera where he noticed a very pretty young woman with green eyes and dark hair was flirting with a young cleaning boy. The Phantom took no care to notice their banter as he normally would have done having too many other things on his mind. He made his way past the dormitory where he saw the little Jammes was keeled over the basin of the commode vomiting, a small bump forming in her belly.

Erik had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat of her bearing a child for that pig but he dismissed his revulsion to the back of his mind as he made his way to the little Daaë's bunk and saw on her bedside table next to a glass of water the item he sought. The letter from her father and with it the address to his home at 135862-12th street Kendall Parkway and made his way out of the opera under the glow of the moon. He hired a cabbie, payed the driver handsomely for his silence when he started to question the mask. After a few moments grumbling about the time of night and how he should have expected nothing less than to have to drive a masked freak to the middle of scenic nowhere in the middle of the night, the man grudgingly steered the tired old horse to his work.

The coach drove off and he watched the Parisian streets slide slowly by him as he was driven towards the poorer side of the city of romance and lights. They arrived on the street side where he asked to be let off and payed the man again with a apple for the horse as compensation for delaying him the luxury of a good night's sleep. The driver, for his part was more than ready to be rid of him and after greedily stuffing the money into his pockets took off. Erik rolled his eyes and made his way down the street toward his destination

His moonlit eyes pierced through the darkness as he took in his surroundings. They were modestly pretty, simple townhouses really, with cliche little gardens and white picket-fences to match and small porches with rockers and side coffee tables to go with it. The Phantom found this cute homey setting to be nauseating and his stomach twisted in disgust as he thought of what kind of people must live in places such as these.

Simpering young girls with overprotective older brothers who smiled at their sister's grandiose dreams of a foppish prince charming who would whisk them off their feet and carry them down yonder window to their awaiting steed as they rode off into the sunset. These girls would of course have damsels for mothers who were inclined to faint if things did not go precisely their way, weak women who depended on their husband's for every little thing and whose pleasure was to sit on their chairs and complain about the gossips of the world. Of course, this disgustingly cliche picture would not be complete without the fathers, men who were young fools and ridiculously indulgent fathers whose sons would grow to be just like them. Young men who took every opportunity to spoil their wives and daughters with frivolous trinkets which they would decorate themselves like holiday trees so he could show them off as they each hung on his arms. Just your average everyday perfect family.

It made him want to heave and he would have done so had he not at that moment reached his destination. He went up to the door and knocked softly as not to wake the no doubt prissy neighbors who lived next door with their disgustingly perfect lives and were no doubt ashamed to have a dying man interrupting their peace. A soft light appeared and the door opened to the sight of a young to middle-aged woman.

He knew she was a nurse from her garb, a white coned-bonnet on her head, a black dress and her smell of soaps and tonics. She promptly told him to go away and that M. Daaë was not having any visitors at this hour and he was resting for the night. Erik tried and failed not to roll his eyes and made quick work of lightly slipping past her as she trailed after him with futile protests about how her patient did not wish to be disturbed. He walked in silently and for a moment a stab of pity hit him like a blow to the chest.

There amidst a pile of blankets lay the haggard form of a man, his breathing the only sign he was alive. He walked slowly to the bed and shook him awake, but the man just coughed weakly and closed his eyes again. The nurse came forward when he shook him again and tried to pull him away but he easily shook her off and waited for the man's eyes to open."What is it?..." the man asked in a voice that was so thick with exhaustion it was hardly audible.

"I come on a mission of great importance sir regarding your daughter."

His eyes shot open at this, he was alive again and his face was etched with worry. He tried to speak, but in his over excited reaction he fell victim to a violent coughing fit. The nurse glared at Erik and ran towards her charge, making soothing sounds and shushing him so that the man fell back on his pillows. When the fit subsided he closed his eyes and fell asleep again, and just like before Erik woke him and he had the nurse prop him up.

"My Christine, is she all right?" he asked and the nurse glared daggers at Erik who remained unruffled and assured him that she was perfectly well and that he need not worry about her health. He seemed to relax at this and the moment he did his head began to droop towards his chest and Erik had to shake his shoulder to wake him up. The nurse did not like this and she made a point of telling him so, but he ignored her. M. Daaë opened his eyes and asked for a glass of water, which Erik got for him and he sipped noisily, gasping for breath.

"It has come to my attention that you intend to marry your daughter off at the earliest possible time."

The man answered in the affirmative.

"I will be blunt monsieur. I have come to ask for your daughter's hand."

The man blinked and said," Now see here monsieur..." he made a gesture as if asking for his name.

"D'Aubert."

"Monsieur D'Aubert, I am an ailing man and I must be assured my girl will be well provided for. "

Erik lied smoothly to him of owning a 'fine townhouse' in the rich side of town, a good living as an artist, mostly composing, and having heard his daughter sing, having a great admiration for her. The man seemed to believe him and after the other took out five hundred gold francs and offering to pay for his medical and funeral expenses gave his permission. The pair shook hands and the man went back to sleep, worn out from the strain. Erik tipped his hat to the nurse who was now no longer glaring at him but gawking in shock. The masked man went home, hardly believing what he had just done.

He was engaged to be married...


	10. A very strange wedding

**Chapter ten**

The day of the wedding came on the 3rd of April and the groom was anything but at ease in the halls of his home. His prospective father-by-marriage was coming by to see his townhouse in the rich side of Paris and this was one lie he could not smooth-talk his way out of. It would not do at all for him to lead M. Daaë down to his cave in his wheelchair as sick as he was. No doubt he would be accompanied by that pestering hag of a nurse who would be watching his every move. He rubbed his face hiding a yawn which tugged at his mouth and throat, he was exhausted. M. Daaë would be here any minute.

The night before he had gone under the cover of moonlight he had found a three-story mansion going under from a broke aristocrat so deep in debt from his dishonest accountants he was being evicted. He would do anything for money now, something Erik had plenty of and now could use to his advantage , he had met Herr Rein, in his parlor with a bottle of Guinness and all the lights off. Erik found a match and used it to light the room and had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the pathetic sight. The German was blonde and handsome like a more mature Adonis, but now he looked like a man twice his own age with a bloodshot expression that showed he had not slept in days.

He had very bitterly snapped at him to go the hell away and leave him alone. The masked man had shushed him softly and made a mask of understanding pity as he knelt beside him and held back his hair while he vomited. Erik clicked his tongue three times pityingly and mopped up his mouth as he whispered to him softly making his offer and the man out of desperation told him to name his price, he did. Three-hundred francs and he got to keep all the furniture, at first the man was reluctant but after a reminder that he would go to prison if he did not pay off his debts agreed to it sadly and shook his hand.

Herr Rein had left then and Erik had taken inventory on everything in the house. The bed was the most haunting, crimson velvet cushions and white silks , he turned away from the bedroom and went into the parlor where he found and lit the massive crystal chandelier. In the room were several couches and things that were customary along with coffee tables and things to entertain guests. In the room next to it, was the lavatory complete with huge bathtub. He checked the music room and found a piano, not as handsome as his but it would do for now until he could go back for his later. There were cabinets full of every score of lively country dances and gigs, he grimaced and made a mental note to throw all these out later. It was obvious the man had no taste in music.

He left then and went back to his cavern where he burned all that atrocious music with a candle. The composer then took his piano by hiring a workman and cabbie from the opera. He also took all of his music, along with his violin, the rest he left behind. Elijah was more than happy to hop along on his master's shoulder and be carried off.

Erik set him up with his bed in a little pile of cushions when he got back to the house and had the greedy worker set his piano down and carry the other away. He then filled the cabinets with his music and went back to his home and collected all six hundred of his books and took them back to the library where he put each of them by category on the bookshelves and went to his new wine cellars and took inventory of them. The man at least had a fine taste in wine and a finer tastes in whiskies , he left that alone. He had finally set up and then collapsed on the bed in a sleep so heavy that nothing but the arrival of his father-in-law-to-be could have woken him, and so it did, seemingly only minutes after he'd closed his eyes.

The composer woke to blinding daylight and the sound of someone knocking at the door, he dressed hurriedly and opened the door to see the man and his caretaker on the doorstep. The man, was wheeled in by his nurse whose mouth promptly dropped open, Erik would have smiled had it not been for the yawn that nearly tore him in two. When Daaë asked as to why he was so tired he smoothly told him that he had been so vexed over his arrival that he had hardly had any sleep. The man smiled kindly and told him that he need not have worried so much and patted him weakly on the back as he was taken into the library.

Erik took him on a complete tour of his new home and even introduced him to Elijah, who after a reassurance that the newcomer meant him no harm, was more than happy to be cuddled by his guest. The last room he took him to was the music room, where M. Daaë complimented him on his piano and bench to match and then asked for him to play. Erik smiled, glad for his years living in the opera as he put on the illusion of being the ardent admirer eager to impress his company and show off his talent, something Mr. Daaë had no objection to. When he began to play he chose first a piece from _Don Giovanni _and then he went to his music cabinet and chose the piece called: Christine.

At first when Erik had played Mozart, the man had merely applauded and complimented him on his abilities when he played this however the man choked and the nurse had caught her breath. M. Daaë was so excited that he fell victim to a coughing spell and Erik ran to get him water, putting on a mask of worry, which the man fell for and assured the composer that he was all right for the present. He then asked him where he had got that piece for he had never heard it before, when Erik told him that he was the composer, the man's mouth literally fell open. The nurse, it seemed could not hold back her question and eagerly asked him as to what the source of his inspiration was.

Erik sighed at this, succeeding in making his eyes mist over like a love-stuck boy. He told the pair that the inspiration for the balled was the girl that he was hoping to marry. The masked man then went on to tell her father that he had even gone so far as to name the piece after her (he made sure to swoon at this) and her father smiled.

He was then convinced that the man he was giving his little girl to the most ardent admirer that she could ever hope for. The man spurned the hand which Erik held out to him and instead stood up with his hand on the arm of the chair for balance and made to embrace him. The other accepted the gesture and made sure to form wet eyes and make his voice simper with gratitude well-practiced as he helped to sit him down. M. Daaë uttered a strained laugh and gave him a feeble clap on the shoulder making a point of telling him that no thanks was required and that he could not hope to give his daughter to better man if he tried. He embraced him again and then asked the nurse to take him home. Erik smiled at the nurse and bowed to the other as he held the door. M. Daaë waved goodbye and he closed the door after giving him one last practiced smile.

The masked man fell to his knees and rested his head against the door, his breathing labored. Elijah, who had trotted into the room shortly after the visit had ended, noticed and came up to comfort him, purring softly and licking the part of his hand that he could reach. He bent down and kissed his ear, wiping his mouth when a strand of cat hair got in it. After feeding, bathing and combing him he set him down in his basket and told him to stay. "I've got to go get ready for your new mother." he explained and the kitten meowed agreeably and fell right to sleep as soon as he left the room.

He then went to the maid's workhouse where he told the man that he required three maids and showed the man his purse and when the man saw it he turned fawning and indulgent. Erik tried and failed not to roll his eyes as he made his way to the back where there were several women to which he was introduced as 'The Gentleman.' The masked man sat down and began interviewing them one after the other until he selected three young women and told them to go wait by for him outside. They nodded and he hired a cab to take them to his house giving him the rest of his pocket-change. He then walked to the opera house where he found his safe and took all the money he had out of it and made the next stop the bank where he deposited all but four-hundred francs of it.

Once he had hired the rest of his staff, two butlers, three stable boys, a chef, (the finest in Italy he was well versed in French and Italian cuisine), one messenger boy, and three personal servants, a chauffeur, a valet and a secondary butler, he sent them home in a coach. He bought some bread and wine from the local bakery and then went off to find a coach. He found one, crystal ebony with red velvet seats and in perfect condition, he had the maker carve his signature seal, the red skull with his initials. He payed him and then told him to hold on to it while he found some horses to go with it and gave him twopence for his trouble. It did not take him long to find the perfect set of horses, six of them, all black pure-breed Arabian stallions. He used the rest of his money with two coins change to buy them plus the necessary accessaries and led them back to the coach-house where the man graciously hitched them for him and in return was given his last coins.

He went then to his underground home and took all his clothes and put them in his trunk, loading them in the back. **'One more stop' **he thought and set his horses to a slow trot. The house of Nadir Khan appeared in fifteen minutes, and he pulled them to a stop. He knocked on the door and Darius showed him in where the Persian was reading one of his happily-ever-after books. Erik tapped the door and the jade-eyed man looked up in surprise for a few seconds before offering him a seat. When Erik sat down Nadir called for his man-servant to bring his guest a cup of Russian tea but the other turned him down.

"I did not come here for small pleasures." said he.

"I suspected as much." replied his host with a dismissive wave, "Why did you come?"

"I am to be married today and I am in need of a groomsman." was the other's casual response.

The Persian's eyes widened and he mouthed something like the name of his god. He found his voice after several seconds later, "W-who's the l-l-lucky girl?"he stammered.

"That is my affair. You will meet me at the Notre Dame cathedral in twenty minutes."

He left. The Persian staring after him.

The wedding proceeded as planned and Erik came down the aisle dressed in a rather unconventional costume of pure crimson. Then the bride came in and he caught his breath, she was a vision in white, her chocolate curls pul in a crown on her head with a few tendrils left on her neck her father trailing behind her in his chair. The dress she wore was a simple one but the neck line seemed to be made for her and suited her perfectly. Nadir's eyes widened as he recognized the bride, but he said nothing, she stepped up on the altar and he noted she was shaking as her fiancé took her hand firmly in his.

When the father asked him if he took her as his wife he said nothing, merely nodding his head. When he asked her she gave a very timid, 'I do' and when told they should kiss he took her hand and gave her a very light brush and nothing more. It was clear that the priest thought this was strange from the look on his face but he did not voice it. He then lead her off the steps as was customary to her father who kissed both her cheeks and gave him a weak clap on the shoulder and bent forward hugging him as tight as he was able.

The reception followed with all the usual festivities, the tossing of the bouquet, the couple cutting the wedding cake and so on. Erik found this all trivial and pointless but he made a point of acting like he enjoyed himself as to not upset her father. When it at last ended, M. Daaë gave them each one last hug and he admonished each one in their turn. Him to take care of her, her to be good. Erik nodded and took her to his carriage helping her inside and climbing inside beside her. He set the horses for home... he had a wife... he was married.


	11. A Bride's perspective

**Chapter eleven**

*******

_Christine_

*******

The ride to my new home was unsettling for more than one reason other than the post-wedding nerves. Not the least of which was the man sitting beside me dressed all in red..._red, _what a strange color to wear at one's wedding, but then wasn't he peculiar? He had not said two words to me since I saw him at the altar, not even a simple 'I do,' when the priest asked for the confirmation that he intended to take me as his wife, and what a strange way to kiss the bride... such a peculiar wedding. The strangest thing was the reception, oh yes it had gone on in the traditional way with all the things that married couples do, it was just his attitude. The air in which he carried himself. It almost seemed rehearsed, as though he were telling a well-practiced lie that fooled everyone, an elaborate falsehood as he hid something behind his smile some sort of secret that he made every effort to conceal.

Then there was the carriage which he had led me too after the festivities had ended. Black. Everything was black, from the walls of the coach to the six horses which pulled it along, and there was the crest carved on the door, a red skull with the letters E.D. cut in its eyes. When he had opened the door to velvets as crimson as his garb and helped me in I noticed that only the chauffeur was the only one wearing all white, from his top-hat down to the shoes which were black as well as the buttons of his waistcoat. It made me shiver. At this point with all the strange things that were happening and whatnot I would not have been at all surprised if we were headed to the gates of hell itself. It was not merely the strange happenings alone which caused these thoughts to spring up, but also the atmosphere. There was such a feeling of fear in the air, that it made me cringe, in fact it was almost spooky.

We reached the house soon after sunset had begun and a man in the same white uniform which the driver wore. He opened the door and helped me out of the coach and then went to help his master. As He stepped out, I looked at the house for the first time at the house and found it strangely out of place considering the almost all black scenery that I had become accustomed to. In truth I half expected to find large black wrought-iron gates towering to the top of the place and a crypt in the back yard with Dracula's coffin inside and lightning to match as it hit two top towers where I would be locked inside forever and turn into Rapunzel and have my master climbing my hair to feed and clothe me. Oh I know I have a vivid imagination, but can you honestly blame me after everything that had happened today? My thoughts were broken as three young boys came and unharnessed the horses each taking two by the reigns and leading them to the stables which I thought would be littered with fire grass and they would then turn into the grim reaper's coach team and fly around the world killing people... my imagination again--- damn it!

But as much as I expected these horrible things to manifest themselves and for the house to turn into a mortuary none of these things happened. In fact the house was the just the opposite, it was a grand manor, clean and bright the fading orange glow of sunset making the glint of the white paint almost blinding. I shielded my eyes with one hand as my arm was taken by the strange gentleman who my father had given me to. He led me up the path where the butler was awaiting them with the door open and a formal bow to his master and a light brush on the hand for me once he was told who I was. The only thing I could offer him was a timid smile--- I was still too shocked to speak--- as the gentleman led me further into the sitting room and motioned for me to sit down. I did. He left.

The next thing I knew I was being shaken awake by an elderly woman in a maid's garb with mussed gray hair piled chaotically on her head and even thinning in places. She had kind brown eyes and a motherly smile as she whispered to me to wake up, I slowly opened my eyes and even then found that they were too heavy to open all the way. The woman clucked her tongue three times and called me a, 'poor dear' and took me up to my chamber to "freshen up" and took me for a hot bath and to change out of my wedding gown. She changed me into a soft nightgown and untied my hair running her fingers through my hair to loosen it before laying me down. When I tried to protest she shushed me and told me that my husband could wait till tomorrow to "celebrate" the marriage and covered me up gently. I was so tired that the moment I felt the covers brush my chin I fell asleep.

When I woke the next morning I was given a hot meal and dressed by the kindly woman from the night before and taken on a tour of the grounds by one of the other servants. I asked after my spouse but the servant said that he was not home, nor had he come home all night and was there anything else I needed. I declined and asked to be left alone and was left in the garden. I wondered where my suitor had gotten off too, not that it really mattered to me for I did not know the man to begin with but it just seemed strange to me that he would be gone on his wedding night and not return the following morning. But what could I expect from the man who wore a red cape and a skull mask to his wedding that covered his whole face save for his mouth and not to mention the words: DO NOT TOUCH ME, I AM RED DEATH STALKING ABROAD embroidered in silver calligraphy on the hem of the cape trailing out behind him all the while sporting a feathered crimson dress-hat and red shoes to match.

I sighed and covered my face, I knew in my heart where he had been all night and though I was relieved that he had not invoked his rights as a husband last night, it still hurt me that he had left on our wedding night. Just one day into our marriage and he had already been unfaithful to me and while I did not love him it was a matter of principal and morality. It was also a matter of judgement, this did not do well to impress me if the only thing that I had seen of him was his over eccentric wedding outfit, the silent treatment, and now being unfaithful on our wedding night. What kind of man had my father put me with?

I knew the answer to that question. He had put me with a smooth-talking rapscallion of a cad. The man was as silver-tongued as a male Delilah and had used his abilities to cause my father marry me off to him. I know I should not feel resentment towards my father, but I cannot help it. Oh I know he is only doing this because he was near death and wants to see me well provided for, but could he at least let me choose the man that I was to spend the rest of my life with... he knows how much love means to me and yet he auctioned me off to the highest bidder. It saddens me that hr would do such a thing, but I know he did this because he loved me. Or at least he said he did... I am beginning to wonder if that is just another ruse to get me to cooperate with him. Moreover I think he has lost his mind, that he is not my father anymore, my father would never do a thing like this.

My real father is a romantic, a dreamer even who believes wholeheartedly in the concepts of happy-ever-after. He is the man who lived with me in a seaside cottage and loved me and my mother so much, he is the one who held me through long painful nights after my mother died of a bad influenza with a wasting fever that ended her life. The man who would just give me off to be married on a whim for whatever reason whether he be dying or no is not my father. That man died on April 3rd of this year when he had given me up . The real Gaston Daaë, the fiddler, the romantic story-teller who I had loved so dearly was dead and in his place was this creature of a man who was merely a shell and was inclined to break my heart.

I had gone along with it for his sake but in my heart I hated him for it and now I doubt if I could ever forgive him. The least he could have done was to tell me the _name _of my intended, but when I had asked him, he merely stated that he did not know his first name but that his last name was D'Aubert. I had been more than shocked to learn that I was marrying a nameless man as well as a stranger, my father had patted my shoulder and told me that everything was going to be all right and that my husband had a great admiration for me. That I would learn to love each other in time just as much as he and mother had loved one another. When I'd pointed out the fact that he and mother had actually gotten the chance to _fall in love, _he had merely told me again that I would love the man in time.

Well, I doubted that very much, after all how could I possibly fall in love with a man who I knew absolutely about and refused to speak to me. And if he had such a great admiration for me, then why on earth was he not here when I woke up and why had he been gone on his wedding night? I looked around the garden, which was filled with every type of rose, the ones I found the most fitting were the midnight roses, so red they were nearly black. So typical of the man to have black flowers un nearly all-black setting. There was a fountain with two angel lovers holding each other, I might have found this sight very pretty had I not expected them to come to life and shoot me at their master's command.

The maid from the night before — whose name I had learned was Marguerite— came out to get me saying that I had best get changed and lead me inside. As she was dressing me I asked her what she knew of her employer.

"Very little ma'am I only know that he plays the piano very well." she answered. Great. He plays the piano well, that tells me a lot about him... not. It did not surprise me that the help knew nothing about him either, from what I had seen of him I was not all that sure that I wanted to know him. He had done nothing to impress me as of yet and consequently I was nervous as to what he would next, if he did anything at all. I was going to ask her if she knew anyone else who may know more, but I did not get the chance.

As the door opened and the little messenger boy came in and told me that the coach was ready. I thanked him and when the good woman asked me where I was going, I simply told her I was going to a chapel to pray and thanking her for her quick work I went to the coach and told the driver to take me to the opera where I was able to slip inside unnoticed (the managers were arguing with Carlotta again over something or other) and go down to the chapel. I had to see my angel one last time... had to say goodbye.


	12. Husband

**Chapter twelve**

A dull strand of sunshine shivered through the window to fall on the face of the masked man as he sighed in disgust. The woman lying beside him moaned and positioned herself more firmly against him and draped her arm over his chest. He looked down at it, then at her face, sharp strong features ruby hair and olive-brown eyes beneath her lids. She was truly a physical beauty it was no wonder she was skilled in the arts of pleasuring a man and she should be considering the high fee he'd had to pay for her. She turned her head more into his shoulder, her hair brushing his nose to assault his senses with the smell of her cheap perfume, which smelled more like a badly-aged whisky than anything else. It made him cough and she groaned rather loudly ,mumbled some incoherent nonsense and went back to sleep again. He closed his eyes and tried to doze off but found himself restless and anything but at ease. Still he kept his eyes shut.

The thought of his wife was what made his mood so unsettled and his mind so anxious. It should be her who was in his arms right now, her eyelids that he gazed at as he thought of the eyes which laid hidden beneath the thin shield of their skin. Instead it was another whore, another rented fantasy that was meant to drive all his thoughts of her away, and just like always it failed as it only caused him to cry out her name. The woman who was his nighttime play-thing would comply knowing he had deep pockets and let him call her whatever he wished and commit any action she could master for the want of his money. He groaned and sat up, his back propped up on the wooden bed frame. His one-time mistress did not wake but rolled over on her side of the bed, tugging his waist as she shifted the bedclothes. He looked at her and rolled his eyes , annoyed.

Erik laid back down and shut his eyes as the whore stirred and kissed his shoulder, causing him to open them and grab at her. She laughed seductively and remarked on his, 'insatiable appetite' and kissed him deeply as he roughly caressed her. His hands were not passionate as they had been the previous night but brutal as he crushed her body to his and spent himself hard enough to make her scream, not in pleasure, but in pain. He caught the scream by forcing his mouth on hers and kissing her savagely and she shivered despite herself as she returned the kiss in the heat of her reluctant pleasure. He finished it and pushed her away from him so that she was up against the wall and made her come before her mouth gave him more pleasure and he finally came.

They broke away from each other and he gave her one last kiss, tasting their passion before pushing away from her and tossing her the discarded clothes at the end of the bed. She caught them and clumsily dressed herself and he took out his purse and gave her a fistful of gold coins ignoring her protests about how this was too much money. He opened the door and bowed telling her goodbye and closing it.

Erik leaned his head on the doorframe, throughly exhausted from the passions he had shared with the woman, a woman who was not his wife. Damn it--- stop thinking about her, it will only bring you more pain, he told himself but he could not stop himself. He could not stop the feeling of pain and sickness as his tired body made him dizzy and he collapsed on the bed, his eyelids dropping like a drawbridge on a river. As was his curse he began to dream, and like usual it was of her, at first they were the ones he was accustomed to, the ones from his drawings then because the human god has a cruel sense of humor it transformed into something far more tormenting than ever before.

He was lying with his wife in the same position and posture as he had lain with the other, her back pressed firmly to his chest, her hair tickling his nose. He imagined it would smell of lilacs and peppermint and her skin would feel soft and smooth beneath his hands. The bedclothes would bind them together at the waist and her sigh of sleep would croon to his ears and she would wake softy to look into his eyes. They would begin to caress one another and she would cling to him shoulder as he came at her from behind and break her other maiden shield and she would cry out his name and hold him as she dozed in the afterglow of their passions and he in turn would hold her and watch her rest.

The next dream was worse than the one before as it started with her caressing him and then her mouth was giving him his pleasure holing him till he finished into her kiss. She would then kiss him with the taste of his desire remaining on her lips and he would lift her up to a chair and do the same for her, then they would hold each other for hours content to kiss one another. He woke from this one and letting out a scream of pain reached for the pad of paper on the table next to the bed and the pen beside it. Erik flipped it open and began to sketch these new images one after the other. When he had finished he fell back on the bed again.

How he hater her! He hated the feelings she caused in him, hated the dreams, the urges she caused in him that he could never ease for the more he tried the worse they became. Most of all he hated the confusion she brought him, for though he did not love her he could no more stop the dreams than heal his face. Even using women for his pleasures no longer bought him comfort. That was the main reason he'd had to leave the Daaë child on his wedding night, he could not stand to see the image of his dreams just beyond his reach. So he had rented another to play the part, only to find the illusion shattered for want of her that he did not want and did not understand. He rubbed his face, groaning.

Erik got up and went to the water-closet and began to wash, something that caused daytime nightmares to pop up. His wife was soaping him with coaxing hands till he yanked her to him and they made love. He cursed and turned the water to a scalding temperature, stood under the spigot and gripped his face till his hand bled with it.

The pain relaxed him, that is until he became accustomed to it, then it merely hurt like hell. He turned the water to a frigid coldness and let it pummel him until he was numb and then he stepped out not bothering to dress and kneeling down on the floor took one of the blades from the shaving kit and ran it over his wrist. When the blood began to trickle from the wound he covered it with his mouth and began sucking. He drank till the wound ceased to bleed and even then his pain would not ease, in fact it made it worse. Licking the blood from his lips he went to the liquor cabinet and poured some exceptionally cheap wine that was poorly aged and poured it not over but into the jagged cut. The man began to drink from it tasting the bitterness of the bad wine and the salt of his blood.

He finished his gruesome ritual and proceeded to bandage the cut with his good hand. It was then that a sudden need for sleep took him and he fell on the bed asleep the moment he closed his eyes. The dreams came one after the other only this time his subconscious was mixing them up so that sometimes they were the ones he had become used to and others the more painful ones that had just been born. It was the newborns which caused him to toss and turn as he thrashed about in the bed attempting without success to rid the images from his mind. He woke then and got out of bed, breathing hard as he ran to the bathroom where he was made to empty his stomach into the sink. The taste of blood and bad wine fouled his mouth as he continued to wretch and belch up the red-amber liquid.

When he had finished he rested his head on the marble of the counter top and let it soothe the pounding of his head. He was sick of this, sick of the relentless tortures that was the prison of his mind, sick of his not understanding why this was happening... and the damnable fascination that came along with the latter. He did not love his wife, he never had and yet the desires she stirred in him were painful, tortures even and no amount of his release was helping. They had all failed him and left him to wallow in the blood that was the addiction he could not explain and quite frankly he was tired of it. He groaned, rubbing the unmasked side of his face.

He stumbled to the bed and took out all the alcohol in the cabinet drinking them one after the other as he proceeded to get drunker than he had ever been in his life. His eyes seemed to close of their own accord by the time he had finished the third bottle of whisky, colors whirled around his head pale and too bright for his dilated eyes but still he went through the motions automatically lifting bottle after bottle to his lips till he at last ran out. He then proceeded to lean forward and become violently sick all over the bed sheets and after rinsing his mouth he stumbled drunkenly out to the lobby, forgot to pay the innkeeper and hired a cab and took it home to be fussed over by the maids as he vomited in the street.

The servants lead him inside where he promptly passed out on the sofa. When he woke again it was hours later and it was dark as the maid brought him to the diningroom for dinner. His wife was already seated across from him and when she greeted him he merely flicked his eyes towards her in acknowledgment. They ate in silence a thick feeling of awkwardness passing all-too-slowly between them. His wife finished before he did and as the maid cleared away the dishes he thought he could just catch the faintest hint of moonlight tousling her chocolate ringlets make their glow seem more deep than it had before, darker. The sound of her soft, 'thank you' made him close his eyes as he recalled the weeping child he had stumbled upon on that night not so long ago when she had first arrived.

He rubbed his face and groaned softly as she began to talk at him about something or other... a chapel and praying. He ignored her words and just listened to her voice, he did not care to hear about meaningless things as the human god and so on. When he at last stood up and went to go to the separate bedchamber she called after him and grabbed his shoulder so that he turned around. She began to prattle more gibberish at him and he had the urge to cover her mouth... no good.... feeling her lips would make him want to kiss her.

She was still talking: "Please will you say nothing? Will you not at least tell me your name?"

His answer was simple, "You may call me husband." and he left.


	13. A marriage of convenience

**Chapter thirteen**

*******

_Christine_

*******

I was dumbstruck, 'you may call me husband,' what kind of answer was that? I had asked him a very simple question with a very simple answer, what his name was. The man had his nerve that was for sure, husband indeed, he was no husband of mine! True we were technically married by the eyes of the law, but we were only married on paper for the marriage was never consummated so therefore was not really a marriage. I found my self getting a headache and becoming nauseous, great just what I needed. My father had set me up with the marriage from hell and now I was feeling ill. Bloody perfect! I went after him and caught his shoulder and repeated my question to which he gave me the same answer. This aggravated me so much I made a move to slap him but he caught my hand and dragged me to him. I struggled but he did not let go so I made a move to hit him with my other hand, which he caught and then holding my hands brought his mouth crashing down on mine in a forceful, searing kiss. I began struggling but he held me tight and pulled me closer, his hands holding mine firmly as I tried to push him off.

I tried to struggle for a moment longer but he dragged me closer and the moment I felt the solid wall of his chest I automatically fell against him. I became high on the feelings he was causing in me and I could not help but swoon into his mouth. He must have sensed my submission for his grip relaxed into something that was more of an embrace as he lifted his mouth from mine and began to kiss my throat. I tried to protest but my voice would not obey my mind, because my body did not want him to stop. He massaged the underside of my wrist with kisses and I could not help but shiver. He smirked.

The man laughed deeply, arrogantly, and moved back up to my throat. I told him to stop but he merely smirked and said that I knew I did not want him to and I knew he was right. The shocks of electricity going through me were too much and I could not tell him to stop for he kissed my lips and I lost control of my senses completely. All I could do was give in to the harshness of his kiss as it held passions that I longed to experience. It no longer mattered that I did not love this man, all I could think of was the passions he controlled the feelings he put in me as I gave myself up to him.

I did not know why I was doing this and at the moment I did not care as I gripped him as I became dizzy and he held me more gently. There was no end to the confusion running through my mind, one minute he was ignoring me and acting like a total brute and the next he was kissing me. One minute I was trying to smack the daylights out of him and the next I was gripping onto him for dear life.

It did not make any sense.

He had swept me up into his arms and carried me to his bedroom where he laid me down and began to kiss me again. His hands caressed me and I shivered as he took my body with his hands and gave me the pleasures a man gives a woman. His lips followed down to my throat and his eyes took more than he had touched and he began to touch me in all the places that only a lover should. It made me shiver as his caresses became more tender and coaxing, was this what my father had spoke of when he had told me of the joys of the flesh? If it was than this man whomever he was, was very good at it.

His kiss became deeper and I could not stop the shivering as he took me with his mouth into a world that I never knew existed and he had me drunk on them. He turned me so that he was looking into my eyes and when I saw the emotions reflected there I was suddenly frightened. The passion was dulled and what I saw was more anger than anything else. It was as if he were doing this purely out of obligation than anything else. All sense of thought was again driven from my mind as he kissed me again and all I could think of was that feeling that had caused me to submit to him in the first place. That sea coming from his mouth in which he made me drown and in which I helplessly floundered.

I could not think, I could not concentrate as his hands began to very skillfully disrobed my body. His hands touched me in ways that only a lover should and in all the places reserved for intimacy. He seemed to want to heighten my pleasure before he disrobed himself and made me put my hands on him so that he made his own pleasures. He seemed eager to give himself the same high that I was feeling for soon he looked as drunk on it as I was on them and so we continued to do this until I felt something painful at my center. The sensation was a burn that I had never felt and never wanted to feel again. I begged him to stop but he would not and the pain ceased and I heard him make a sound as I began to cry. The kiss he gave me then was tender and soft.

I was confused for more than one reason as he had hurt me and then when I asked him to stop he had not but the pain had eased somehow. How he had done this I could not fathom and quite frankly did not care to figure out at the moment. The thing that had really bothered me was the tender kiss he had given me. The kiss he had given me as he had ended it. had been strange. It was not like the kisses he had give me before this, but soft and gentle as though he were a true lover to me and not some stranger who I had been forced to give myself to. I froze, what had I done? The marriage had been consummated and now I was officially the wife of a man who I did not love in both the eyes of the law and God. Now he really_ was_ my husband... a man I did not know, a complete stranger was my husband in both the physical an legal sense of the word.

What had I done?

His hands were around my waist as he drew me closer to him and my back was against his chest. I could hear him humming softly to himself as though to lull himself to sleep. The voice and the melody were vaguely familiar to me but I could not place them, all I knew was that both were very pretty and that I was exhausted. I felt my body relaxing into the sheets... the bed was so warm and his arms were strong. Without knowing it I had moved closer to him, my head now pillowed on his shoulder... before I knew it I was fast asleep.

When I woke up there was a pair of blue eyes staring at me. They were not my husband's eyes, his were the silver of raindrops not the shadowy blue which gazed at me with such curiosity. When I opened my eyes I knew it was not he, for the face was very furry and had whiskers. I reached up to pet it and the creature purred, once I had gathered up my senses to realize that it was a cat I continued to stroke it and the animal for its part seemed to be thoroughly enjoying itself. One of the maids whose name I heard was Jean came in, greeted me pleasantly with a 'good morning' and then seeing the cat snapped at it to get out of his master's bed and to stop pestering me. When I assured her that it was not and that it was fine by me if the cat wanted to be in my lap, she shrugged.

I asked what the kitten's name was she answered me in a slightly clipped tone as if annoyed that I had allowed the cat to defy her orders. I sighed---Elijah--- so like my husband to name his pet for the angel of death. This man's brooding attitude was really becoming taxing on my nerves . I knew nothing about him, or rather nothing about his mind, for by now I had seen him as unclothed as the day he was born. Still he was content to remain a stranger to me. God this was getting tiring now and if he kept this up I was sure I would go mad.

Speaking of, where was he? He had not been there when I woke up leaving me alone after we had laid together. Would there be no end to the man's brutal habits? First there was the leaving me on our wedding night to go be with a street walker and now he leaves before I wake... I swear if my father were here right now I would hit him over the head with his own cane. I put my face in my hands and had to swallow the lump in my throat, there was no point in crying over this it would not solve anything, nor would it help in doing the latter. All crying would was cause my nose to run and my eyes to swell up and turn red and bloodshot, in other words all crying would do was make me look awful.

Elijah, must have sensed my distress for he began to purr sweetly and nuzzle my shoulder with his little head. I petted him and sighed as Marguerite came in and kindly asked my if I had slept well and I answered in the affirmative for despite my troublesome thoughts I had slept well... odd that I should have slept so well in the arms of the man who I was hell-bent on doing all manner of painful and illegal things to most of them involving his death or at the very least torture. I set the kitten down and as the maid dressed me I thought of last night. Or what I could remember of it...

Now that I was not caught up in the throws of passion I had a clear head and I did not like it. It would seem that last night he had been drunk on more than just passion and though I had failed to notice for lack of the ability to think straight I now faintly recalled the taste and smell of alcohol in his mouth. That hurt, he had only lain with me because he was so drunk that he hadn't known what he was doing. The man did not care for me at all, and while this did not surprise me for he did not know me and visa-versa it still hurt and vaguely disgusted me that he had not come to me out of his own free will but because he was drugged. I had to swallow another lump and when the maid asked if anything was wrong I shook my head and put on a weak smile. She did not seem convinced but dropped the subject and finished tying my gown telling me my husband was in the garden, I thanked her and she stopped me and gave me a motherly hug.

I sank into her embrace, grateful beyond words that someone was there to comfort me. She held me so tenderly that I did not even notice when I had begun shaking. The good woman shushed me and kissed my cheek, humming softly until I was calm and I pulled away for a moment and let her kiss my cheek again before I went to find my spouse. I found him and asked him again what his name was and when he said nothing I became angry and demanded to know why he was so intent on hurting me, why he had betrayed me on our wedding night and then was not there when I woke up this morning and why the bloody hell wouldn't he tell me his name? He turned around and the look in his eyes frightened me. It was a look that I had seen last night, that passionate angry look.

What he said next hurt me more than anything he had done before,"This is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more." and he left me there going in his coach to god only knows where. I stood there... he did not even care for me, last night had not been a true consummation... he had raped me... he had raped me and I let him... worse I'd enjoyed it. I sank to my knees just as little Elijah padded out to the garden and jumped in my lap, snuggling his head into my shoulder. I held him close and kissed the back of his head burying my face into his fur, I cried like a child.

**A/N: Thanks to all who gave me help and suggestions, I couldn't have done it without you!**


	14. With Child

**Chapter fourteen**

***

_Christine_

*******

It had been three and a half weeks, nearly a month, since the 'consummation' of our marriage and still my husband has not seen fit to tell me his name. This had become taxing and I was now concerned for my sanity at this point for the more I lived with the man the more I wanted to kill myself. He was not brutal in his actions towards me but his words never ceased to cut me deeper every time he spoke it was to tell me that he was off to god only knows where and that was all. The pain was deep not because of him alone but at my father as well for setting up the match in the first place. He had not seemed to care about who he put me with just as long as he was wealthy and made me financially comfortable.

My husband was indeed very wealthy to be sure, although to the extent of his fortune I cannot attest but the house in which we lived was proof enough to show he was well-off. I was never in want of anything material. The problem was more in the relationship though I had never expected a fairytale romance for I am not an idiot. I know that there is no such thing as prince charming and I am no longer a naive little girl who dreams of things like that although they would be nice if they could be real and I will not lie, my imagination has more than once cooked up the vision of a dark sorcerer whenever I'd had the misfortune to see my spouse.

What really conjured these daydreams was that these brief encounters happened at such irregular intervals, that it gave me the impression of him disappearing and reappearing at will. Like he had evaporated into thin air and could become solid again wherever or whenever he desired. The thought made me shiver for more than one reason it made it hard to sleep at night as I pictured two moonlit daggers piercing me though the darkness as though I were a target they intended to kill Curse my parents for fostering such a vivid imagination in me and moreover curse me for my inability to control it!

There was also his music, oh it was beautiful to be sure, very. It was just the way it sounded as though he were sobbing when he played but also as though he screamed. It made me want to weep and go cower in a corner all at the same time, it made me pity him and fear him all at once. As if this weren't strange enough, he was always hiding in some place or another, I sighed, why could not my father had wed me to a normal man? I knew the answer to that question, my father being the storyteller he was had been too thrilled by the aura of mystery which seemed to cling to this man like a second skin that he had been bind to all else.

I put my face in my hands, would my father never learn that some situations required logic and not the dreams of romanticism? That was a foolish question of course he would not, being a traveling fiddler for most of his life until he met my mother and now after she died, that is until this illness had taken him. He would never change and for the most part I was okay with this, but this was just ridiculous. The man had lost his mind due to his wasting fever, that was the only explanation I could give for his rash behavior I sighed again and sipped at the tea which the butler had brought me. Where had my real father gone and would I ever get him back before the virus took hold?

I decided to take a walk in the garden with Elijah trailing close at my heels. Looking around at the roses I thought of my mother and her perfume of lilacs and peppermint and her love for white roses. How she had used to put them in my hair as a child saying that it added a little light to my dark hair and my father would put red ones in her hair so that it added a little darkness to her golden locks. I remembered the sound of her laughter, a soft bell that carried on the wind and the smile on my father's face. Cool and crisp in the sunlight, like dancing pearls framed in his handsome pale face. His chocolate curls dancing in a soft breeze as he looked into her tawny-golden eyes, preparing to kiss her.

A single tear made its way down my cheek, warming my cold skin slightly as I remembered their courtship that lasted even after they were wed. How he used to tell her that she was the love of his life and how every year on the anniversary of their marriage he would by her a arraignment of lilies and forget-me-nots. Or on her birthday a box of her favorite English sweets and how she would smile and tell him that he must stop spoiling her and he in turn would say that she had given him everything he'd ever wanted and that she deserved it. I remembered on my birthday she would make me a new dress or a new bonnet and father would play me the 'Happy Birthday,' song on his violin.

We had been so happy then. I closed my eyes, knowing that I would never have that kind of family with Monsieur D'Aubert, he did not love me and I did not love him. Hell, I did not even _like _him, he had done nothing to impress me and then he had the nerve to touch me in the ways a lover does. But there was no point in wishing for things that could never be, no point in fighting the way that things were for they were the way they were for a reason. After all does it not say in the holy book that our lord works in mysterious ways? Perhaps he had a plan for me and I was not meant to figure it out yet. One could only hope...

Elijah broke my thoughts by jumping in my lap and meowing for attention. I could not help but laugh and flipped him gently on his back as I began to tickle his belly. I loved the cat, he was loyal and loving and I could always go to him for comfort. He was so unlike his father, and he was everything I wished my husband twas.

I stopped petting him and began to sing a lullaby that the Angel of Music had taught me. Where was he when I needed him... but then my father had told me that I was only going to hear him until I had found an earthly love. Well I did not love the man so therefore I should not have lost him, but when I went to the chapel that day he had not been there. It had not mattered to him that I had wept for he had been long gone to me. My father had taken my right to fall in love and at the same time had cost me my angel. I began to feel tears building pressure behind my eyelids and I blinked hard to keep them at bay but two of them escaped and before I could stop them. The kitten licked them away. I smiled.

I felt ill then and bending forward became violently sick all over myself, Elijah had the good to get off my lap then. The last maid whose name I had name I had learned was Justine ran to me and gently lifted me to my feet as she led me inside. She changed me into a clean gown and then laid me down on the bed where I passed out. When I woke again it was dark in the house and the sound of someone walking in the dining room was easy to hear. I tried to get up but felt so weak that even moving was exhausting, the feeling was so overpowering that I fell asleep the moment I fell back on the pillows.

A soft voice woke me and I looked into the eyes of Marguerite sleepily when she handed me a cup that was warm to the touch. I smelled it, warm chocolate, I took a sip and the warming in sensation was so soothing that it made me want to fall back to sleep. The good woman propped me up and began feeding me chicken broth like a mother would to her babe. I lurched forward and threw up again and she shushed me and mopped up my mouth with her handkerchief as I began to weep uncontrollably. She pulled me into her arms and sung me to sleep as she put a cool cloth on my forehead.

This went on for several weeks, I would wake up in the mornings and become ill, sometimes I would eat and others I could not stand the very sight of food. There were times when I could only eat certain foods and times when I wanted foods I couldn't stomach. I was constantly exhausted and sometimes without knowing it would sleep through the whole day and wake up feeling drained afterwards. Often I would fall victim to inexplicable crying spells and nothing could calm me. What was wrong with me? The answer came to me one night and I was woken up by it... no it couldn't be that... it was. The question now was how to tell _him._ I got out of bed and went to search for Monsieur D'Aubert only to bump into the butler who told me that he was in his music room and did not wish to be disturbed. I assured him that it was urgent he looked at me skeptically but afterwards led me down the hall where a small yellow light shown through the bottom of the door.

I did not bother to knock knowing he would not answer if I did. I simply stood there in the doorway and listened for a moment. The song was like nothing I had ever heard, a sad balled which seemed to scream in agony and swoon in pleasure all at the same time. It intoxicated me to the point where I very nearly forgot why I had come in here to begin with. Once I had broken from my trance I came to him and touched him on the shoulder and when he didn't turn I tapped him. He slammed his fingers down on the keys, make such an atrocious noise I had to cover my ears. I gulped when he stood up and demanded to know what I wanted and I knew I was not allowed in here and how dare I interrupt his music and so on and so forth.

I tried to answer him, but It would seem that in the midst of his rant he had closed his ears. I could not seem to get a word in and waited till he had finished but even then he'd gone back to his music and seemed to forget I was in the room. I went up to him and tapped him again to which I received the same response. By now I just stood there and let him rant for at least fifteen minutes before I began to cry. It was then that the most peculiar thing happened, he came up and gently wiped my tears with the palm of his hand before offering me his handkerchief. I took it and thanked him, he nodded slowly and asked me for the third time what I needed.

I answered him, "I am with child."


	15. Erik

**Chapter fifteen**

Erik's reaction was to be expected he went to an inn, got drunk and proceeded to mutilate himself. He spent hours contemplating how this had happened, She was pregnant with his child. She was pregnant with _his_ child. He had never thought that a mere consummation would cause this. He had bedded many women before and never gotten one pregnant before and the moment yet he beds his wife she grows into a mother. He groaned, her god has a sick sense of humor. He could not make a good father... the only child he had ever interacted with was... dead. Poor little Reza, he had killed the boy. The only child he had ever loved he had murdered, true the boy was already dying but even so.

If the child was born with his deformity he would have to do the same all over again. No, he could not do that, especially if the child had its mother's eyes. He couldn't bear to look into those honey-colored eyes as they became dilated and then his fingers would have to close them. His heart could not bear to lay the dead child in his wife's arms. Not again.

At first he strove to avoid her at all costs, finding thier cold attitude towards each other a sign of the norm. There was nothing to change in the whole thing as long as she remained strangers to one anotber. Time was passing slowly each night they would eat dinner im silence then retire to separate rooms. In the daytime hours they would stay as far away from one another as humanly possible. He in his music room and she in the library locked away with her books as she lost herself in the silly fairytales that everyone loses themselves in when one was not inclined to live on cloud-nine instead of the real wold.

Sometimes he would hear her humming old lullabies to the kitten and sometimes he would close his eyes and leave the hall tio drink his sorrows away. He would sing with her ssoftly making certain she could not hear him. Even times he would leave and bed someone and sing to them. It worked for a whiile for he would always put them in a trance. The Angel of Death had returned and for a while it served to ease the mysterious ache in his heart.

As time passed however Erik began to grow lonesome and began to miss teaching Christine as he used to do, but could not find the words to apologize for his bastardly behavior. He had to content himself with watching her preform night after night in his usual box of course and listen to her voice gracing his ears painfully for it brought back memories of the one night they had shared with one another. Her soft cries, the swoon as he brought her pleasures to an end and finished his own afterwards. He could not get the picture out of his head and for some reason he felt more like a bastard than before. Each night when she would finish he would escort her to his coach and she put on a show by taking his arm and letting him help her inside.

Elijah for his part was becoming more and more attached to his new mother and was spending more and more time in her arms each day. It was one day that he heard her humming Elijah to sleep that something strange happened. He noticed how truly beautiful she was, how the sunlight caught her hair and her amber eyes shimmered in the fading glow. And that night he drew a new picture. Not one out of his tormenting dreams but one of the vision he had seen in that room... of her and how lovely she was. That night he took up his violin and played the piece called Christine over and over till he finally fell asleep in his chair his violin between his knees.

One day soon after this, he decided he wanted to talk to her but he didn't know what to say. He decided that the begining was a good place to start and to start with the basics, and tell her his name. Now the only question was how to do it, he couldn't just walk up to her and say 'hello my name is...' because after his behavior she would think him to be very drunk or out of his mind and she would never come and talk to him herself and he honestly could not blame her because he had not done anything to make her want to. What was he going to do?

That night he came into the library to find her reading one of his old books, a romance. Typical of a girl, he mused before coming up behind her and laying a hand on her shoulder and she turned, glared at him for interrupting and then went back to her book. He rolled his eyes and this time began to rub her shoulders smirking when she shivered despite herself. She shot up and ordered him to leave but he merely asked her if she wanted a glass of wine, and which would she like white or red. She answered white and he poured himself a glass of red while he handed her the glass. He had to smile when she looked at it scrutinizing it as if it were poisoned and he tipped his own glass to his lips to show it wasn't. She seemed convinced and took a swallow of her own drink as he motioned for her to have a seat. He remained standing before making a gesture asking if he could join her.

She give him an indifferent shrug and he joined her not speaking as she went back to her book and he stared into the empty fireplace. Feeling awkward he got up and lit a fire in the hearth before standing in front of her and asking her if she was enjoying her book. She nodded and turned back to it, he gulped quietly, grateful she had not heard him and then asked her what the book was about and she answered him in a somewhat board tone.

It would seem that she was reading the tale of the black knight and his ladylove who he had killed many a man for, only to have her spurn his affections in the end. She loved thinking of how she and her beau would be hidden in the clouds as she toying with the most powerful man on earth and how she was a vixen proud and true and how he had torn out his heart and held it out to her as she rejected him and how he had died with his name on her lips. He somehow managed not to roll his eyes at her silly girish thoughts. Beau and his lover indeed, she was a traitorous Delilah and it was right that he should have died in the end and deprived her of another pet to be at her every waking call.

He did not voice these thoughts for he did not want to ruin the atmosphere as it was already tense enough without him making it worse. He simply nodded and asked her if she would like more wine and she nodded but eyed him suspiciously as he handed it to her. Guessing her thoughts he reassured her that he had no intention of getting her drunk or taking her in passion as he had done that night months before. They lapsed into silence as they finished their wine and then he began to talk softly. He without knowing it had begun telling a story out of his head. He heard her put her book in her lap an he continued till he could think of nothing more to say. When he had finished he heard her clapping softly. He had no idea why but he decided to just go with it.

She told him it was a wonderful story and he, playing along thanked her as he passed her a plate of butter cookies. They each took two and he called the butler, Cornelius to bring him coffee and her hot chocolate. Their drinks were brought and she thanked him for the drink. Christine eyed him suspiciously, wondering what he was up to as she finished her drink.

She got up and thanked him for his time and bid him goodnight but he stopped her and asked her if she would like to hear him play. She raised her eyebrows but nodded slowly and he began to play the balled of the vixen. His wife listened and before long was humming along softly. He smiled and bid her to come stand beside him. She did and then he began to sing the male part and her eyes widened but she said nothing and he asked her if she knew the counterpart and she answered in the affirmative. He closed his eyes as he asked to sing and she did as he requested after a moments hesitation, her voice was beautiful it made him smile.

He got to his feet and came behind her and whispered in her ear. "You need to breathe properly." he murmured and could not help but blow warm air in her ear as he kissed it. She shivered and he laughed softly as he rubbed her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. Christine found her eyes closing and she listened to the voice. He began to hum softly and soon she was becoming sleepy.

"Wha-what did I do wrong?" She asked her voice becoming thick with sleep. He said nothing and continued to rock her.

"Nothing," said he after several moments. His arms snaked around her waist and she swooned as his hands came around her waist and he lifted her to his lap. The kiss he gave her then was deep and soft and she moaned before pushing away from him. His hands traveled up to the collar of her nightgown and lower so that he smoothed her breast.

"Stop..." she murmured, but held his hands as his long fingers stroked the skin just above the line of her cleavage. His hand gently began to undo the strap at her shoulder. He ran his mouth over it to the hook of its blade. She swooned and closed her eyes . "Stop." she repeated but she moved his hand up and let him touch the column of her throat just down to the base of her throat.

"Christine..." she moaned as his voice whispered her name. The swoon that came from her lips was more of a sob of wanting rather than a protest for him to stop and she gave up.

His hand caressed her and she shivered under her husband's strong touch. The kiss he gave her was hot and he pressed her close to the wall where they began to fall prey kisses so searing that neither one of them could think. She gave herself into his strong arms and the warmth of his body as he she was taken to the sofa. He kissed his wife and pulled her into his arms where she was taken into his embrace and to the bedroom. Sh closed her eyes the moment she felt the satin sheets and he snuffed out the candle and kissed her. She lost the ability to think and within time which seemed to be as though it made her pass into oblivion. His hands pulled her into his arms and he watched her sleep as she lie against him. He ran his fingers through her hair stroking it and humming till he fell asleep himself.

Erik woke before she did and unable to help himself kissed her awake. It was nothing really just a covering of the lips without seeking entrance and she woke under it. She looked at him with sleepy eyes that seemed slightly shocked that he was there. When she moaned and stirred the bedclothes trying to get up he shushed her and made her lie back down beside him. He didn't know why but he had the urge to hold her, and she was too tired to object. It was only moments before she was asleep again. Though it was only a half an hour, he never felt more calm in his life and soon enough he kissed her awake again.

"Mmph..." she moaned and shut her eyes again. "No... I am sleepy... " He shook her lightly. "Sleepy." she repeated groggily.

"Christine?" he whispered.

She woke then and looked at him. "Yes husband?" She muttered.

"No, not husband. Erik."

"Erik." she murmured a smile curving her mouth. "Erik."

"Yes Christine."

"Yes Erik?"

"Nothing. " he used his fingers to close her eyes. She moaned and her head began to droop. "That's it Christine. Sleep." She did as he commanded.


	16. Closer

**Chapter sixteen**

*******

_Christine_

*******

When I woke again I was surprised to find him still lying beside me playing with my hair. I tried to get up and he pulled me down into his arms and sang to me softly. The voice was a sweet tenor whispering in my ear as though to lull me back to sleep and would have done so had it not been for the confusion running through my mind. Would there be no end to this man's surprises? First there was the drying my tears so gently in the music room and then the cordial gentlemanly behavior in the library the night before and now here he is holding me in his arms and playing with my hair as he sings some song in my ear as I wake from our coupling.

This is all very confusing, especially the way he is looking at me now, like I am the only woman he has ever lain with. There was no question in my mind that he had done this many times with more women than I cared to count and yet he is holding me in the way a boy does when they take their first women into their bed. Gentle and unsure. None of these thoughts were as mind boggling as the fact that he had finally decided to tell me his name. The man, no Erik was calling me now and when I looked up at him he gently lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a tender kiss which was so soft it was almost loving. I responded, not knowing what else to do in my surprise.

Ugh! This man was so bloody confusing, one day he was so cold and unfeeling it was driving me to madness,the next he was cradling me in his arms and kissing me warmly. Why this sudden change of attitude I had not the slightest notion but I was at the same time frightened by and enjoying it. He had fixed me so that I had my head on his chest, his heart was beating under my cheek and my eyes were beginning to close again, he was warm and strong... I fell asleep in his arms. The last thing I heard was the sound of his deep laughter and the feel of his fingers running through my hair as I fell to dreams of both our passions and our waking.

When I woke again he was not in the bed beside me, though the bed was still warm and smelled of him. Rather he was sitting on the sofa in our room and playing the violin as I rose from the bed. I went to dress but he had already lain out my clothes, or rather something he had picked for me, I had to admit it was beautiful, a dark burgundy gown with a small lace collar that v-necked down to the area just above my breasts. He helped me into it his strong hands coming on my back to tie the corset loosely around my waist. I looked at myself in the mirror and he proceeded to gasp as he came behind me and slipped a necklace down to the collar of my throat.

What he said next made me almost fall over, " My manners have been lacking as of late, no that is too kind. I have been behaving like a complete bastard, and I wish to apologize." when I opened my mouth to accept his apology his stopped me and continued, "I will not ask your forgiveness, I am unworthy of it, but if I may be allowed I wish to start over. So, hello, my name is Erik Alexander D'Aubert and it is a pleasure to meet you."

I was so shocked that I did not speak, only stood there staring at him with wide eyes as he bowed formally and brought my hand to his lips. He stood there awaiting my response, when I gave him none he sighed and went to light a fire in the hearth. I nodded numbly when he pointed out the fact that it was cold outside and asked if I would like a glass of warm wine. He led me to the sofa and set me down, bringing me my drink. I muttered a quiet, 'thank you,' and he nodded slowly. When he turned to get his own glass I grabbed his hand and he turned towards me with a questioning and yet hopeful gleam in his eyes.

Standing up I set my glass on the table and courtesied to him offering him an awkward smile, in hopes of easing the tension. It worked, he smiled back and his smile was nothing like the one I had seen at the wedding, that smile which hid something. This was a real smile an honest smile. I courtesied again and this time by some miracle found that my voice was still functional.

"My name is Christine Isabella Daaë and it is a pleasure to meet you as well sir." he bowed again and brought my hand to his lips.

"You know," I began when we had returned returned to our seats, "your voice seems familiar to me."

"Does it?" asked he keeping his tone casual.

"Yes, but I cannot place where..."

"Never mind that." he said quickly , "would you like to go out today?"

I nodded slowly and he went to get my cloak but I ran to the bathroom and vomited. He was quickly at my side and soothing me as he apologized over and over for forgetting that I was with child and the alcohol was bad for the baby and a whole mess of jumbled sentenses I didn't catch. I tried to reassure him that it was all right and that I would be fine but he shushed me and swept me off my feet into his arms. I expected him to take me to bed but he sat down on the couch with me in his arms. I moaned and told him I was tired and wished to rest and would he please allow me to lay down. He did not seem to be listening as he continued to run his fingers through my hair. It felt nice, and the massaging on my scalp was making me even more drowsy than before. I told him again that I was tired, he tightened his embrace and continued.

"Shh," He whispered placing my head on his shoulder, humming softly. My eyes were so heavy now that they closed of their own accord. "That's right Christine, that's it. Rest your eyes." I tried to ask him to put me in be bed, but the fog in my mind was so thick now that I couldn't manage to make a sound never mind speak and when I tried he kissed his fingers and placed them on my lips making shushing and other soothing sounds. I do not know when it happened but my world went black.

When I woke again I was in bed but his arms were around me and he was fast asleep. I looked at the clock one-thirty a.m. Erik snored softly and I snuggled into him more firmly, moaning softly at the warmth and strength of his body. He must have heard me because his eyes shot open and he asked me if I was all right. I shushed him and kissed his lips softly telling him that I was fine and to go back to sleep. He, it would seem had different ideas because when he returned the gesture it was soothing and he sat up pulling me so that my head was in his lap and he began to sing a lullaby as he pulled the bedclothes around me.

The only line I could make out was the last:

" _Dark dreams cannot touch you, the angels have sung you to sleep."_

I awoke to find him sleeping with his head against the bed board and my head still in his lap. I took his shoulder and eased him down on the bed. The sun was just beginning to rise and I knew I should get up and dress but I did not want to, so I leaned into his arms and felt his instinctively wrap around me. I smiled and began to turn my head as I started to play with his hair toying with it between my fingers. He looked so peaceful and I couldn't help but kiss him as he began to wake up, and damn him he immediately turned it to burn.

The kiss lasted for at least half a minute and by then I was gripping him. He smirked and whispered my name into my mouth as he breathed and started another kiss lasting just as long as the first. We continued this for several minutes as he just held me pressed to his chest his tongue making love to my mouth. We broke away then and he pulled me closer resuming his kissing, and I certainly had no objections. His hands were framing my waist his fingers smoothed my hair as his other hand moved up my neck his fingers curling firmly around the back of my nape. He drew me deeper into the kiss and when I responded he sighed in approval.

We broke away, each of us gasping for breath as he held me close and kissed me to an affect which made me grip his back and he smiled against my lips. His hands flipped me over so that I was lying on my back and he moved closer to me so that the slightest movement of his head made the kiss burn. The next thing I knew I was underneath him and he was kissing me tenderly, coaxingly and of course I responded to him. What woman couldn't give into his touch... he kissed me to the point where I could not keep my eyes open, it was all I could do to keep myself from fainting right there in his arms. I swooned and he pulled me closer to him and rubbed at my shoulders strongly.

I noted that while his touch remained coaxing, his hands were roughened by callouses and yet they were gentle. Erik continued to kiss me until I was as drunk on the feelings as I had been the night I had lost my virginity and I could feel that he was as well, only this time I tasted no alcohol in his mouh. He was not wearing a shirt so there was nothing to prevent me from touching his abdomen and I was fine with this. He was strong and his body was well-defined, for a breif moment I wondered how he had managed to stay a bacholar for so long. Surley a man as wealthy as he, with hands as well trained as his should have many prospects. His mouth, still on mine, became harder and then soft, and I decided to think more on the subject later when I had the abillity _to_ think.

Without my knowlege he had disrobed himself and I and the next thing I knew we were caressing each other in all those places reserved for intamacy untill he took me in his arms and into his body. Then we were flying, soaring above the moon and the stars with only each other for support till we both were brought to a high-flying end and sank back to earth with a last kiss to mark an end. I smiled into his chest as we fell asleep.

We were getting closer to one another at last.


	17. Heart Wrenching Tales

**Chapter seventeen**

**A/N: I am taking creative licenese on Erik's relationship with Luciana in this chapter. Sorry if that bothers anyone.**

*******

_Christine_

*******

The next morning when I woke he was, to my surprise, weeping like a child. I had never seen him weep and it hurt me deeply. I leaned over and kissed him softly, whispering to him to wake up. His eyes shot open and he held on to me the way a child would his mother. My arms seemed to wrap around him of their own accord and my voice sang every lullaby I knew just to calm him down. He woke and turned from me, still sobbing as he wiped at the tears which flooded down his face. I turned and sat next to him, rubbing his back and whispering softly.

"Erik, what is wrong?" I asked only to be answered by more sobbing.

"Luciana... oh god..." more tears followed.

I had no idea who Luciana was but she must have been someone very important to him to cause him to weep like this. We sat there on the bed for some time as I comforted him. The sun was peeking over the window now and I told Angus, our messenger boy to tell Gino not to bother making breakfast for us this morning because the master was in great distress. He ran down and I pulled my husband close and let him cry as I sang to him kissing his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Lucy... so sorry...." he chocked out.

"Erik who is she?" I asked trying to help.

He did not answer me instead he shook with sobs repeating, 'sorry' over and over and even the silk of his mask turned a darker shade of white. I briefly wondered why he wore that thing but banished the thought when I saw how broken he looked and got up, going to the basin of water, slightly warm from the night before. I took out my pocket handkerchief and dipped it in, coming back to the bed and returning to my place beside him, began to mop his face gently. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into my touch. I smiled and asked him if that felt better. The only response I got from him was more violent tears and wretched sobs. I leaned up and kissed his shoulder, or tried to anyway, the moment I touched him he shrank away.

"Lucy..."

Ugh, this was getting me no where and I wanted nothing more than to ease his pain. That did not look like it was going to happen anytime soon and all I could do was sit here and listen to him cry for several moments until his sobs calmed down into hiccups and he stopped shaking, He laid down as thickly as though he had been struck into unconsciousness in a drunken fist fight.

"Do you feel better now?" I asked but there was no response for several moments and then I heard a soft snore come from him. I sighed and with some difficulty managed to get him back into bed and cover him up. Tears were still trickling down his cheek and I climbed into bed beside him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He would not want to wake up alone after that long crying spell, heaven knows I would not. I rubbed his back, making shushing sounds like my father used to do when I was sad or had nightmares after my mother died. He seemed to calm down a little and I lay there wondering who this Luciana was and why the thought of her had upset him so. It was no good asking him, when he was awake he cried only saying 'Lucy' and 'sorry' again and again, and I loathed to wake him.

I must've fallen asleep because the next thing I knew he was awake and once again crying into my hair. This time I pulled away and kissed him firmly, making sure that he could only hold my head in place as he responded from shock. I continued this until we made love about twice and then as we laid together I asked him who Luciana was. The shadow of pain returned to his eyes and he pulled away from me saying nothing and making a move to rise from the bed. I caught his arm and tried to lower him down again and he looked at me as if begging me not to ask him this and pulled away from me again as he began to sob. The sobs made him weak and it was easy for me to lower him down and wrap him in my arms and soothe him.

"Erik do not shut me out. Please. Let me help you." I whispered as I let him weep on me. He looked at me in such a way that it broke my heart nearly to pieces. It was a look of agony much deeper than anything I had ever seen. He turned form me and looked at the floor, I came beside him and wrapped my arms around his shoulder, waiting. At last he spoke.

"Luciana... was my wife. My first wife, she was beautiful, so beautiful, so very beautiful. " His voice trailed off again into choking sobs and I rubbed his back. So he'd had a wife before me, how touching to know that he could fall in love or at least feel tenderness towards someone for he must have to be weeping for her so. "I called her Lucy, my Lucy..." he wept.

Erik then proceeded to give me a back story on his history with the woman who had long ago captured his heart. He had apparently met her when he was fifteen and traveling through Milan Italy. She was two years younger than he and when she saw him perform some magic trick or something of that sort she fell in love with the idea of the mysteries he created, and after meeting him backstage the two fell madly in love with one another and married one month soon after and unknowingly conceived a child on their wedding night. They had stayed in Italy for their honeymoon and nine months later she had born him a child. She died shortly afterwards.

"What did she look like?" I asked.

The description he gave me made me think she was truly worthy of the word 'beautiful', in fact she should have been called a vixen. It would seem that she had soft features which many Italian women did not possess and a milky and yet still bronzed complexion. Her hair was a mahogany silk down to her waist and her eyes were as deep a sapphire they looked as though they were drowning any man who dared to look into them for so much as a moment. Even more stunning was his explanation of the sound of her voice. The slow motherly alto which could be heard whispering to the ears of their child as he joined her in song.

"What happened?" I asked him.

His voice became choked and harsh again as more sobs seemed to literally rip him in two. I felt the pressure of my own tears forming behind my eyes as he sobbed out her name in anguish unlike anything I had ever heard in my life. It broke my heart. For even though I did not love him, the sound of his pain was so great that it hurt me even more than his bastardly behavior in these past months of our marriage. I made shushing sounds, the kind my mother and father had made for me when I was young and thought I had seen a monster underneath my bed. He seemed grateful for the comfort for he leaned his head on my shoulder and I automatically began to smooth his hair.

"Died. Killed herself." I gasped, what had she done that for? He obviously had cared for her very deeply to bring himself this pain at the mere memory of her. True, he could be a complete bastard at points, but then he could also be a perfect gentleman when he wanted to be. He was a difficult man and confusing more often than not but the way he could look at a woman and the way he was a lover...so gentle... the way held her in his arms. For all his faults he was not such a bad man. Oh I know I had absolutely despised him when I had first seen and, 'met' him but then I started getting to know him better and now I found that I sort of liked him.

"killed herself." he repeated, "loved her...loved her so much."

That was obvious.

"Why did she kill herself?" I prodded gently.

"My fault... " he choked, "Aaron... poor Aaron..."

I did not need to ask who Aaron was because he answered without my doing so. Aaron was his and Luciana's son, who had died of a syndrome which had no cure nor medicine. Something called 'sudden infant death syndrome,' and while I had no idea what this entailed it sounded horrible. His wife, devastated, took poison the night after and had died a horrific death of a fever which was sudden in the oncoming and slow in the killing. She had taken it in the middle of the night and Erik, thinking it was nothing more serious than a fever, (for all his medical knowledge he had never seen it before and did not have an antidote) had been at her bedside until the doctor had told him the cause. He then had stayed at her side asking her over and over why she'd done it. The only thing she said was 'sorry' over and over.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and ran kisses down his shoulder to the hook in each of them. He moaned and leaned back sighing as I eased him back down on the bed. He shook as he whimpered her name one last time and I kissed me forefinger, placing it on his lips. He dropped off and I covered him up telling the maid that he was asleep and did not wish to be bothered and that I wished to dress. I went into the other room and dressed in a plain white gown, no shoes or jewelery and went for a walk in the garden.

"Poor, poor Erik..." I whispered to myself as I thought of his sad tale and how truly heart-wrenching it was. He had loved before and had that love ripped out from underneath him by the very woman he'd loved. I felt something tearing at my heart as I thought of the sound of his tears. The harsh movement of his chest as he wept for his wife and child. It broke my heart. Why had Luciana done this to him? True it would devestate anyone if they lost thier child, or at least I know I would be devestated if that had happened to me. Still that was no reason for her to hurt him even more. Perhaps it was my naive mind bringing me these revalations for indeed on these matters I have no experiance and I honestly hope I never do.

"Poor man... he must be broken..." I whispered the thought aloud, but only the sad May sky heard me. I went back to our bedchamber and lie back down beside him. He was still shaking from the racks of quite sobs. "Shh... shhh... sssh..." I whispered and lay my head on his chest. He did not seem to have heard me and I leaned up and kissed him tenderly on the lips, the same way he had done when we awoke from our passion.

He fell asleep.


	18. A Terrible loss

Erik

I do not know what it was about that night three days ago which caused me to tell her so much about my life. Perhaps it was merely the nightmares which had induced the loosening of my tongue, or maybe the soft way in which she had spoken to me. Either way it was strange for I am not, nor will I ever be, a man who reads like a novel on a summer afternoon. Still it had happened and there was no way of turning back the hands of time to keep it from repeating itself, for as the wise have taught, to change the past is to ruin the future.

I can think of only one reason in which these confessions were prompted and that is the fact that she looked so like my Lucy. My Lucy... my poor, poor, Luciana, it was my fault that she was dead for I was unable to save her child and in consequence she had ended her life. Not that sudden infant death syndrome is curable, but perhaps I could have prevented it somehow, perhaps in some way or another I could have stopped it from happening. In any case it does not matter anymore for there is no point on dwelling in what I could, or should have done. The fact was that I didn't do it and therefore she is gone... my poor beloved is gone and it is my entire fault for my own incompetence is to blame. She would have made such a good mother... but Aaron is gone as well and so I have been alone now for these past twenty-one years and would have been content to remain so if I had not met Christine.

Yes, Christine. What was it about her which drove me to madness? Me always so calm and collected going nearly insane at the mere mention of her voice, that's what it was, her voice! This was maddening for it is not ordinary for me to become so tortured by things which, are of my own creation. Yet somehow in some way or another she had captivated me in a way which, was both confusing beyond words and as enthralling as any illusion I could have ever made. She was not my love, she had never been and never will be the woman who had captured my heart and yet visions of her still haunt me like the very ghost I had once reenacted time and time again.

I hate her in many ways but was fascinated with her in many others as there was a mystery to her which even my mind cannot even begin to fathom. It is this very thing that draws me to her like a moth to the light of a burning candle, for I have always had a fondness for challenges, what true genius does not? Still she is the main frustration in my life as she is the one true mystery that I cannot solve, nor find the clues to do so. It maddens me to no end!

The thing which puzzled me the most was her complete change of attitude which she had acquired in the short time that we have been married. She has gone from a simpering and whiny child to a young woman, who quite frankly could drive me out of my senses at any given moment. Why this sudden change I can give no answer, but I am beginning to find that I rather enjoy it. I despise women who are weak and muddle-headed with nothing in their brains but foolish fairy tales and sentimental trash. Not that I have a vendetta against fairy-tales and whatnot, even I enjoy them on occasion, but when someones head is so full of such happily-ever-after nonsense that they are blind to all else it makes me want to murder them and then go soothe myself in every possible way as to get said trash out of my mind.

But I digress, even though she is not my love she is a very good girl and is proving to be a very, well..._suitable _wife if you know what I mean. It is very rare that I have had virgins you see, in fact in all the years in which I have been... assuaging my needs I can remember only three two of which being my wives. Lucy, while having been a dutiful wife in many ways was not inclined to enjoy the carnal pleasures and so she was, while sweet to lie with, lacking in the passions which really lead to pleasure. The second was that young girl freshly housed at the whoredom, she was no good at all for she simply laid there limp and rigid as I had taken her, she had not moved even once as she 'made love,' to me. Like hell she did!

Anyways getting back to the point. The third was as you can guess, Christine. Now, _she_ was a good lover for even when she had lost her innocence, she had learned all-too-quickly the ways to drive a man to madness when in bed and also the way to give a man his pleasures. I, of all people should know! Not only this but she could be soothing and gentle when the need arose, hence her comforting me after my nighttime terrors had ended. I knew from this that she would make a suitable mother to the child.

I needed to clear my head so I took her on a ride out to the woodlands surrounding my home and we sat there together, as I sang to her of all the dark stories of the north. It was not long before she fell asleep in my lap and I laid there just holding her. She slept in my lap for some time and soon I had dropped off into my own slumber and was content to lie there as we did till the morning. She woke before I did and her stirring woke me, I found her sitting and talking to the little bump as though the child were already born. I have laughed very little in my life as there has been no cause to, but now I laughed for a reason that I can give no explanation for. She had even smiled at me and allowed me to place my hand on her belly and feel my child.

She is so beautiful when her amber eyes light up and her smile flashes... beautiful and pale as the moonlight on a candle-lit evening. Why am I thinking such things? I should not bee thinking these thoughts...oh my god... what is wrong with me? I sighed as little as Elijah came in and purred into my ear. My wife was humming softly as she came in to dress. Her voice lulled me to sleep.

* * *

When I woke in the early morning, I knew it was morning because the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to brighten the windowsill. I made a move to rise from the bed, but stopped when he heard a soft moan coming from beside me. Christine was fast asleep beside me with her head on my arm and I lie back down beside her, shifting so her head was on my shoulder. I found myself wrapping my free arm around her waist and pulled her closer letting my fingers lightly brush the bump in her belly that was my child. She didn't stir but she did moan softly. I smiled and then grimaced, what was wrong with me? I hated her! I should not be holding her like this, but I did not want to let her go. I _couldn't _let her go.

The sun shivered softly through the window to fall softly on her face and light her earthen hair. Her gentle features, peaceful in sleep, her dark hair which tumbled to the small of her back. When I closed I eyes, I could almost picture the woman I loved. Yes, that was the reason I had not killed her yet, she looked like my Lucy, nothing more. I kissed the dark mess of curls which had fallen like a drape over the hook in my shoulder. When I got up and left a note saying that he had gone off to the gallery to sell my latest art, I took one of the horses and rode off into the city.

I had begun working in an art gallery you see, for being a married man I could no longer be the opera ghost and I must say that this is far more lucrative in any case for while I do not like to boast I am by far the finest artist there. The others do not see art the way I do and therefore the pieces which they create are lacking in animation as well as the picture of their creators are lacking in talent. As such when people see my work they will pay any price to get it. My last drawing sold for fifty-thousand francs to a wealthy aristocrat who was looking for a wedding gift for his fiance.

He had come to one of my partners asking what he would recommend, not as a customer just as another man to man. My associate Dorian had come to my study, whilst Christine was out for her morning walk in the park, and told me of the young man's dilemma. I told him to tell the young man to give him a picture of his love and that I would draw him a picture of her, the young man was reluctant at first but when Dorian took him around the gallery to show off my other works he wholeheartedly agreed. The next day I received a photograph of the girl. She was lovely, but she had the kind of beauty that came with a kind of brainless submission. It made me roll my eyes.

That day I handed my associate the completed work with which he returned and the young man was so pleased that he refused to pay anything less than twice what it's worth. I plan to use this money to open up my own theater and sell true music to the world_. _Not my music of course for the ears of the human race cannot ever be able to truly comprehend the beauty of passions as deep as those which flow as the blood in the embodiment of my power. The human race can not handle raw beauty and so it shall be deprived of it, simple as that. I have already used the money from one of my smaller projects, (this one had only gotten me ten-thousand ) to open my own gallery in which artists who now know my work (this is thanks to the notoriety the aristocrat gave me after he went strutting about the city telling everyone about my gentleness with the pen) are paying through the nose to desplay their works in.] Ah yes, wealth is no trouble to me. Not to mention that I am now making more monry in a week than I had ever made in a month at the _Garnier. _

I came home from the gallery to find my wife, slumped down in the kitchen doorway, fast asleep with her head resting on the wall. Shaking my head I picked her up and laid her down on the bed. I got into the bed beside her and shook her lightly and as she opened her eyes, she collapsed on my chest.

"Erik, oh god... Erik..." she choked out and clung to my neck.

"Christine what is it?"

"My father... oh god... Erik... my father." she sobbed.

My eyes widened and I pulled her so that she was laying with her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her.

"Oh Christine... oh... ssh, ssh, shh... that's it... shhh..." She sobbed harder.

I just held her. There was nothing more I could do. Her father was dead.

* * *


	19. In Love

**Chapter nineteen**

Erik

My poor wife, she looks so fragile lying here in my arms, weeping like a frightened child. I found that she needed me very much in those moments, for the baby had grown in the six months that she has been with child. I noticed that there was a letter crumpled in her hand and I knew in order to help her I had to read the letter, so I bent down and kissed her tear-wet mouth gently. She responded, gripping onto my shoulders as she pressed her mouth into mine. I tried to pull away from her but she deepened the kiss to the point to where I forgot whatever it was that I had been thinking about and responded to her feverishly, still holding her.

"Erik. Make love to me." She breathed into my mouth and I frankly had no objections to the idea. I pulled her into my arms and began to run little bites down her neck, holding her firmly by the column of her throat. She swooned, closing her eyes as I made my hand up to my own lips and, after passionately kissing my own finger stuck it in her mouth to dance with her tongue. I replaced her finger with my lips and we began to break into an endless storm of kisses. I tried to be gentle with her but she was having none of it.

I pulled away gasping for breath as she rolled her hand over me to make me nearly finish before I could give her any pleasure. She grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet. Next thing I knew only my shirt was on and I was up against the wall, Christine kissing me hotly and then she was on her knees. I made a move to tell her to get up, but next thing I knew her mouth was giving me pleasures that if I had any thoughts at all I had banished them.

"Christine, stop." I groaned but she just kept going until I found myself finishing it. "Christine, please my love stop this…" I groaned wanting to finish by giving her pleasure. She wasn't listening she kept it up. I finished and she stood up kissing me hard. When she finished, she began to cry again. "Oh shh… Christine shh… I love you… shh." Yes, I admit it I love her. God, forgive me Lucy, but I have fallen for Christine.

She sighed and curled into me, fast asleep right where she was, standing up. I sighed and lie down with her after carrying her to the bed. She moaned and curled up against me I covered her up and left the bed to bathe and shave so that she did not wake up and find me looking unkempt. I came back and found her sitting up in bed, holding her stomach, a pool of water soaking her nightclothes. I paled and went to her as she began to moan in pain and thrash about. I pulled her into my arms and held her close. She gripped me, weeping about how much it hurt.

"I know Christine. I know." I murmured. I kissed her softly and rang for Angus.

The boy came and I told him to hurry and get the physician, he ran off. She kept screaming and screaming all I could do was grip her gently and hold her to me whilst she cried. The doctor and his birthing woman came and told me to leave, but I told him not a chance in hell. The midwife pleaded with me and still I refused. The doctor put a gentle hand on my shoulder whispering to me that he needed to operate to release the child and he was going to put her in a drug-induced sleep. That she would be fine.

I let him do it; I just could not bear to see her in agony any longer. She looked at me and I smiled reassuringly as I put her hand to my hand to her lips shushing her, she slept. The minutes turned into hours and soon nighttime came upon us. There was still no word from the doctor. At last he came out a sad expression on his face. I shot to my feet, prepared to kill the man had he caused her to die.

He shushed me and told me that my wife and my child were all right but she could never have another child. That the operation had been able to save her life but she would never be able have another child. I rubbed my face, poor Christine. I asked if I could see the child for he'd already told me that she was in an almost unconscious at the moment, he nodded and let me in the room to see my child and my wife. She was fast asleep, but the midwife had just finished cleaning the baby.

"Monsieur D'Aubert. Your son." She said softly, giving me a beaming smile and placing him in my arms. I looked at him, the child made my eyes water. He was so _beautiful, _a perfect little boy with his newborn blue eyes. He'd been born with a full head of hair, the brown ringlets tossing perfectly on him, he cooed and I smiled at him. The look of my wife lying there in the bed, sleeping so soundly made me smile.

"Charles. " I whispered, looking at him, "My son. " I began to choke on joyful sobs as I said his full name, "Charles Christian D'Aubert. " He began to make whimpering sounds, and I began to sing:

"_Hush now, my baby._

_Be still love don't cry._

_Sleep like you're rocked by a stream._

_Sleep and remember, my soft lullaby._

_So I'll be with you when you dream."_

He dozed off and I sat down and held him to my chest, tears spilled from my eyes. I am such an ungrateful bastard, how could I have treated her like that? I should have been a better husband, I shouldn't have vexed her so, what kind of a way is that to treat a woman let alone my wife! I should have lived up to her father's expectations; I _will _live up to her father's expectations. Oh Christine forgive me my darling I never meant to harm you, I am so sorry my love... so sorry.

Luciana, forgive me beloved, but whatever it was that we had so long ago my dear I will never forget. You cannot ever begin to comprehend my longing to see you and Aaron again but that is over now. Now I must bear the cross to love my new wife and my little child. It would not do for me to simply leave them out in the cold whilst I pine for you. Please believe me when I say that I shall never forget, nor will I ever stop loving you Lucy... but it is time for me to go on. Lucy, haunt me no longer and may we let each other go till we are reunited in the world beyond. No, not even then. I am unworthy of you, you are and always will be my fist love, but you will never be my _true_ love. I know that now, and I pray that one day you will find the one who's worthy of your affections somewhere in that land of happily-ever-after.

I am looking down at my true love right now, watching her in peaceful sleep, her face is pale and tired from her ordeal but she is still beautiful. Charles gurgled in my arms and I shushed him so he did not wake my love. I smiled, my eyes watering as I picturing little Charles in his mother's arms and the first beaming smile of a new mother as she looked at her child for the first time. My wife would never have any other children so I hope that our son and I can give her much joy. I have never thought that I would have a son again, hell I never thought I would even love again. How wrong I was. She stirred and nearly woke but I did not want her to for two reasons. Fistly: She had just had a child and an operation in the same day, not to mention her father died just three days ago and in my opinion that constituted a need for serious resting. Secondly: I was enjoying watching her sleep.

Elijah came in through the partly opened door and leapt up on the bed beside his mommy and with his quick wits was careful not to wake her. I showed Charles to the kitten, who nuzzled him with his little head. The baby cooed and reached out with his little hands towards the cat. I smirked when Elijah licked him clean (even though he had already been bathed) I looked down at Christine, who sighed softly beside me, oblivious to the scene around her. What I have done is unacceptable, this is not the behavior of a husband and I am such an _idiot_. I love her, ever since I set my eyes on her I loved her, but I just couldn't admit it to myself, no not couldn't… _wouldn't. _I had locked myself so deeply in the loss of my wife that I did not want to fall for her but god help me, what man could she not bewitch?

I remembered suddenly the letter from earlier that day and found it laying open on the bedside table. and discovered to my surprise that it wasn't a letter at all. It was a tragic poem written by Christine herself which nearly made me weep. I immediatly thought of a melody to go with it and I began to sing it to my child:

_"You were once my one compainion, you were all that mattered._

_You were once a friend and father, then my world was shattered._

_Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near._

_Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here._

_Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would._

_Dreaming of you won't help me to do, all that you dreamed I could._

_Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental _

_Seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle._

_To many years fighting back tears, why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow hear again, knowing we must say goodbye._

_Try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try._

_No more memories, no more silent tears._

_No more gazing across the wasted years._

_Help me say goodbye. Help me say goodbye."_

I sighed and bent over kissing my wife on the forehead and moved down to giver a closed-mouthed kiss on the lips. She stirred and touched my cheek weakly.

"Erik… let me see our child." She murmured and I held him up to her. She smiled, "What's his name?"

" Charles. Charles Christian." She smiled and pulled me down giving me a weak hug and I wrapped my arms around both of them. "Sleep. " I said easing her down, "rest." She dozed off, him in her arms sleeping soundly.

*******

I rode off towards the small church where the father was at the altar singing one of the old hymns from the cataclysm. The night was dark and cold and I knelt beside him offering my head towards Christ I said: "Bless me father, for I have sinned: I have fallen in love." .


	20. Courtship?

**Chapter twenty**

Erik looked at the statue of the crucifix before him and let silvery tears flow freely down his face. The father beside him looked at him in confusion and knelt in front of him. He touched his shoulder lightly and looked at him through his spectacles, which hung off the bridge of his well-pointed nose through foggy green eyes. Erik looked at him and then, for the first time in his life, broke down completely. The priest let him lean on his shoulder and rubbed his back with a consoling hand, shushing him and eventually hugging him around his torso so that his hand rested on his back.

"Oh my child," he murmured, " tell me. What ails you?"

"I have sinned greatly father. I've fallen in love."

The priest looked at him in confusion for a moment before shaking his head. He held him as he cried and shushed him in a gentle tone, whispering comfort to him. Erik pulled away from him and tried to get to his feet, but found he was too weak to do so. The father shook his head and eased the man back down to his trembling knees as he nearly fell over. He took out his handkerchief and handed it to Erik, who mopped his eyes in a futile attempt to dry them. The priest smiled sadly, attempting to comfort him and wiped his eyes for him as more tears welled.

"My child, it is no sin to love. Surely you know this, now tell me, whom do you love so as you would think it sinful? Is it a woman you cannot have? Is your sin adultery?"

The other shook his head and tried and failed to find his voice. The priest waited patiently for his answer, keeping a consoling hand on his shoulder. Erik made several sounds and choked gasps in an attempt to open his throat, thick with sobs. He made deft gestures and tried to convey his point with his hand, only resulting in a look of confusion from the priest. When at last he found the words he had to take a moment to get them in order. He finally found his voice after a moment.

"No, my sin is not adultery. For I love a woman that I already have. My wife. "

The father smiled and shook his head; he could not understand why this man was so vexed about loving his wife. There was no crime against loving one's wife and or husband. He looked in his eyes and saw the pain that haunted him. The father shook his head again and lifted Erik's head to look into his eyes. He moved his hand toward the mask but Erik stopped him gripping his hand. The priest shook his head and gently took the mask off with his other hand. The moment the silk hissed to the floor, the deformed man closed his eyes, waiting for the cry of disgust.

None came; instead, the other formed his marred cheek with his hand. Erik opened his eyes and met the father's eyes, which were filled with compassion. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek softly, kindly, Erik blinked.

"My child, god has given you a great burden, but with every trial comes a blessing. Is this why you believe your love for your wife is a sin?"

Erik nodded.

"She loves you, god has given you love. She would not have wed you if she did not love you."

Erik's eyes filled with tears and he began to cry again, shaking like a child. The priest sighed and wrapped his arms gently around him and rocked him back and forth. He made shushing sounds and muttered prayers to the lord to comfort him. Erik then began to spill his heart out to the priest, how he'd fooled her father into letting him wed her. How he'd tricked the poor man into leaving his only child with a total stranger and how he had lied to the man saying that he was leaving her in the hands of a wealthy ardent admirer when he was really a sickening letch. How he, an old man of thirty-and-six had wed a mere child. His bride was twenty years his junior, and how he had taken away her chances for love.

The priest listened patiently while he went on to tell him of his sinful dreams. The child that she'd given him just last night and how beautiful he was (the father smiled at this) and how much he looked like his mother. He told the priest everything he could think of, his bastardly behavior, his unfaithfulness on their wedding night, his harsh and unfeeling attitude towards her when they'd first married, and every other thing he could think of. He stopped when the father made the sign of the cross and muttered in Latin, taking out a small bottle of what Erik guessed was holy water, dipping his fingers in it. He crossed himself again and touched his damp fingers, first to his own forehead and then to Erik's.

"In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost. I forgive thee of thy sins."

Erik blinked, "What?"

"You have just offered your confession my child and so you are forgiven." Said the father as if it were obvious.

"All right. Now what do I do?"

"That I cannot answer my child. Only you can decide which rode to take." He turned and went back to his prayers.

Erik thought about it for a moment turning over what to do next in his mind. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever and this was thoroughly irritating. He looked at the priest and muttered a quiet, 'thank you,' before leaving. Erik took his horse and rode it at a bolting pace towards the home of his best man. The servant opened the door and he bolted in before the man could even ask his name. Nadir stood up quickly, noting the man's tousled appearance.

"Well, aren't we in a state?" The Persian murmured as he took the other's cloak and quite literally shoved him in his chair.

"God help me Nadir!"

The other raised his eyebrows, "Nadir! That's the first time you've called me that. Normally it's Khan, or some other name."

"Not the point!"

"Ah, yes, why are you here?"

"I've fallen for her!"

"If by 'her' you mean your wife then I should hope so."

"Of course I mean my wife! Who else would I mean you foolish twit?"

"Erik…" the other sighed, "you've not told her have you?"

"No! What did you expect me to do? Just waltz right in and go, 'hello dear, oh and by the way I am in love with you' I mean think!"

The other laughed and said, "no, no that would not do. You must show her you love her."

"How?"

"Oh come now Erik, don't be dense. Court her."

"How do I do that?"

"How should I know? I'm not you."

"Nadir… I haven't courted since…"

"Since Luciana." Said the other, his voice softening, "I know. Erik is their any _honest _reason why she shouldn't love you?"

"Hmm… I don't know, maybe the fact that I was a total bastard to her?"

"Yes, but you remedied that, did you not?"

"Yes, we've a child together, Charles. He is so beautiful; you must come and see him sometime. Speaking of, Nadir, I know you are not Catholic but as my closest friend I wish to ask you to act as his godfather."

Nadir smiled and offered him a nod and a hug. Erik accepted both.

"Now, getting back to the point, if you and she made a child together then she obviously _cares _for you at least. Unless…" he paled, "Allah protect us! You did not force yourself on her did you?"

"Did you think that I would harm her?" he asked sharply. His dove eyes turning to quicksilver.

"No, I was just making sure."

"Erik if she did this with you, if she _willingly _did this with you. For you. My guess us she either cares very deeply or may even love you. My advice is to go to her and tell her you love her. If she does not already love you, then make her with a courtship. Not just any courtship, a one that I know only you can give. All you can do is win."

"Thank you for the advice. I must go now, I must go to her." With a wave and a smile, he left.

* * *

*******

_Christine_

*******

I was not expecting to find my husband there when I woke, for he did have his work after all. I did, however, wonder what had happened to him in these ten months we had been wed. He had gone from a brutish bastard to a gentleman almost overnight and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was going to be a good father. He thought I hadn't heard him when I'd been asleep after giving birth to our son but I'd heard him singing to him. Oh yes, he was going to be a good father. Charles, for his part was fine with this as whenever his father came home he would gurgle and coo until Erik lifted him up.

He was fast asleep in my arms and I was sitting in the in bed and watching the birds through the window while I fed him. My son. I never thought I would be a mother perhaps my father had made a good choice after all… Erik was not a bad man he was just broken. I began to hum to the baby as he opened his blue eyes and whimpered, soon enough he was sound asleep. His eyes were already forming their natural color; he would have dove-gray eyes like his father. I smiled, thinking what a dashing and charming young man he would be when he was grown.

The young women would flock to him in masses, each an eager young lady wanting to hang on his arm. He would court them and only marry the one he loved, then, like his father he would become one of the greatest artists in France. Perhaps he would learn to play the violin as well as his grandfather and his father. His father would teach him to play the piano and to be romantic, while I gave him lessons on how to be a gentleman. He would go to the finest academies in France for his boyhood schooling and then the finest facilities for higher education wherever he wished to go.

He would be a perfect father and have several children with his beautiful bride, several daughters with a couple of sons to carry on his father's name and go to visit us with our grandchildren on Christmas where he would teach them the masses of the holy father so that one day he would walk all of his children down the aisle to wed their beau and become a proud grandfather himself. Teaching them all that we'd taught him and telling them stories about us long after we'd died. He would then join us in heaven a few years later and we'd embrace one another and go off towards eternity in the land of happily-ever after.

What am I thinking? I am planning his future for him before he even has a chance to do so himself. I suppose that is what every mother does whilst she holds her newborn child in her arms. I suppose this is what my mother did with me, and my father as well; he most likely looked at me the way Erik looks at Charles. I was feeling drowsy and so I leaned back jostling the baby unintentionally. He began to wail and I sat up holding him close and rocking him gently. Erik came in then and I must say he was looking to be in quite a state. His black hair was mussed, his clothes were soaking as though he'd been running, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy as though he'd been crying for a long time.

"You look awful." I said, "Is something wrong?" Why am I asking this, if he were looking like this then of course something was wrong!

"Christine… forgive me, Christine I love you. Please allow me to court you."


	21. Shock and thoughts

**Chapter twenty-one**

*******

_Christine_

*******

I looked at him for a moment and then I slowly stood up and went to him, he touched my face. I kissed his palm and then his lips, he responded. He looked at me again, and I began to kiss him again, but this time he pushed me away gently and stroked my cheek instead. Charles began to gurgle and then he let out a long wail and all at once Erik seemed to forget what he had been doing as he ran to the bed gathering him up. I watched my husband hold him and make shushing sounds. I could not believe how easily he was able to go from husband to father as he did whenever the child cried.

I sat down next to him and watched him hold the child to his chest and rock him, telling him not to cry, that it broke his heart when he cried. The pressure of tears formed behind my eyes and I had to close them to hold them back. The sound of his tenor's voice was soft, so much so that it soothed both of us. I felt myself becoming sleepy…so sleepy… my head lolled on something warm, smoothly soft my ears heard him crooning to the baby. My child's cries turned to gurgles, then silence.

My world went black and when I woke again it was gray-blue with fading twilight and Erik was playing with my hair as Charles snoozed in his bassinet. My head was still so thick with sleep that my eyes were refusing to open. When they did however, I noticed that Erik looked even more sleepy-headed than I was. I sat up and lowered him down so that his head was in my lap and he sighed.

My hands automatically began to smooth the hair back from his forehead and soon he was sleeping like a babe, as was I a few moments after. I did not know how long I was drowsing but when I woke my son was whimpering with hunger and so I rose, taking him into my arms and beginning to nurse him. It took me a few minutes to register that Erik was not there and looking around I saw a sheet of paper folded up neatly beside me and after securing Charles to me with one hand I flipped open the paper.

_Christine,_

_Gone to take care of business matters be home by six_

_All my love:_

_Erik Alexander D'Aubert _

_P.S. I have a surprise for you, so leave Charles with Justine for a while and be ready at the door._

I sighed did he not know that I hated surprises, particularly from the man whom for the longest time I had thought was the devil's magician. I rubbed my face and looked down at my babe, he stared back sleepily at me with his raindrop eyes, all-alight and sparkling innocence. I began to tickle him, smiling as he made chirping sounds, Erik is right. He is so beautiful. Charles fell asleep in my lap as I rocked him back and forth, dozing myself. I was still so tired from birthing him that I often fell asleep without realizing I had done so. I sleep so deeply now, that sometimes Erik rouses me out so as to make sure I have not died.

Charles must've been having a nightmare because he woke and cried out so I began to rock him but that just would not seem to quiet him. I felt my heart begin to ache sharply in my chest, now I understood what Erik was talking about when he said it broke his heart when his son wept. Mine was shattering hearing it.

"Shush dear heart, shush." I whispered.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.

_I'm here, nothing can harm you; my words will warm and calm you._

_Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears._

_I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you._

_Let me be your shelter, let me be your light._

_You're safe, no one will find you; your fears are far behind you…"_

I did not need to finish the lullaby as my babe closed his eyes, his tiny hand wrapped around mine. Smiling I pressed his face to my bosom and wondered to myself who he would take-after the most when he was able to talk. Charles gurgled and let out a little chirp as he pointed to the picture of his father. I smiled; he was such a smart little boy. My smile turned to giggles as he wrapped his other hand around my finger and began to make moist sounds that sounded like kissing more than anything else, still holding my finger and pointing to the picture with his other.

"Oh aren't we clever." I said in mock-disapproval, "Your father should have named you Romeo Don Juan instead of Charles Christian." I laughed as he gave me a toothless smile.

He cooed and reached up, I bent over him and let him touch my cheek with his little hand. "Now isn't that just adorable." Came a deep voice, I looked up to see my husband standing in the doorway, a charming smile plastered on his face. He came up to the bed and sat down on the edge. He leaned over and kissed first his son then myself. I looked at the clock. Five minutes to six. I realized I was not ready and handed him the baby so I could make myself so.

He took him in his arms and began to bounce him on his knee looking at him with such adoration it made me want to cry. He gathered Charles close to him and made shushing sounds to amuse the child. Charles laughed and cooed reaching with his tiny hands to grab at his father's nose. I smiled and finished readying myself but when I returned he was making no move to rise. Instead he motioned for me to sit beside him, when I did he set Charles in my arms and reached into his coat pocket. Erik produced a little black pocketbook and opened it revealing a lovely picture of a woman in a bed with her lover's arms around her, handing it to me and reclaiming Charles in his arms, bouncing him on his knee again. I told him that it was a lovely picture and that he should definitely put it in his gallery. He smiled, thanked me, and dropped the subject. We sat in silence for a few moments.

When I put the book down, Erik held the now sleeping Charles out to me. Confused I took him into my arms, but he lay me down and told me to hold still. When I made to ask why he put his fingers to my lips and took out a piece of charcoal from the embers, freshly blackened but slightly cooled. I raised my eyebrows but he shook his head and told me not to do that and for God's sakes would I relax? I obliged him and he began to scratch at a blank page of his book. The sound was soothing and my eyes began to droop he smiled and nodded as if approving of my sleepiness.

I sat there watching him and tried not to doze off for a few minutes until he flipped the page over and pushed me down gently. That did it, my eyes closed and I clocked out. He lay down beside me so that my head fell on his chest and when I woke again he was, as usual playing with my hair. I kissed his chest and lifted his shirt running little kisses down to his navel and flicking my tongue on the button. He groaned and shook his head pulling my head up and giving me a firm kiss.

I gripped his back and he ran his hands down my body and back up to my breast. He fingered my nipple and then lowered his mouth to suckle there, I tossed my head back and he reached up to hold my head in place. My breath coming hard, I had to let him hold me up for fear I would drop as he reached down and pressed my center. Erik looked at me as he made my chemise sink into the most intimate place on my body. The baby, still snoozing in my arms gave a little laugh and we broke away to put him to bed.

"Christine, please, let me court you."

"I cannot."

He pulled away and got up walking out of the room with a slow pained wake. I tried to reach for him but he simply walked on.

When he had left I passed my hands over my eyes. I did not let him court me because I already think I love him…


	22. Raoul

**Chapter twenty-two**

Getting past the human race is difficult, that much he knew, but for her to reject him after everything they did together. The nights where they had lain in each other's arms, the way that he had tried to reform himself. For her…all for her… and yet it still was not good enough. Deep in sleep, he had watched her as he remembered the way she held his son close to her breast. He scoffed pained by the throb in his heart, oh god, even now she looked beautiful, and his chest felt like it would shatter. He could not stop himself; he had to kiss her cheek at least. Had to, just one last time.

Erik went to the bathroom where he took up his razor; he would ease his pain in the old-fashioned way. The way that had always helped him in the past, he smiled wickedly. Oh how inviting the weapon looked, how easy it would be just to cut his wrist and end his pathetic existence. Why should he not do so right this moment? His life was worthless and so was his existence, she did not love him… she had made that quite clear earlier today when she'd openly rejected his advances.

He slowly began to run the blade along his arm, ah yes; pain was his friend, it was right there when he needed it. Blood seeped out from his cut and he bit it deeply. Sucking the liquid, another slash and another until he was lying there on the cold wooden floor of the water closet. Erik lay there watching the blood leak away and smiling, she would be free of him by morning. Free of him and able to go find the man she really loved. He only hoped that whoever he was would take good care of Charles.

Charles whom had only six months in this world now would never know his father, six months and his father was gone. The thought brought an ache in his heart, but it could not be help. He knew it was selfish, but he just couldn't take the pain any longer, it was just too much to bear. Erik closed his eyes and fell asleep from weakness. The time passed as though it were hours when it was only a few minutes. He did not care; it would be all over in the morning. All over.

A soft gasp woke him up and the image of his wife in the doorway jogged him back into reality. He tried to open his eyes all the way. It did him no good; he was too weak to open them. Christine had just been coming in to wash her face, she had been feeling ill and thought it would calm her down when she found her husband like this. She ran forward, and caught at his hand and then that was it. He started to weep like a little boy after a nightmare. She murmured softly to him, she whispered a lullaby, sitting him up on the floor and putting her arms around him, holding him close.

. Erik could not help himself; he reached up and kissed her softly. She responded deepening it, holding him there for several minutes as she drugged him with gentleness. He broke away from her, looking deeply into her honey colored eyes, his own full of pain and self-hatred.

"My god, what have you done to yourself…" She murmured as she lifted him to his knees.

Christine somehow managed to get him to the bedroom and on the bed without falling over or deepening his wounds.

"Why are you doing this? What do you care? "

She shushed him and went to get bandage the cuts, wrapping them gently. He let her wrap them simply because he wanted to feel her hands touching his. Her delicate fingers worked perfectly as they carefully stitching his wounds and coddling his injuries the way a mother hen would her chicks. Erik looked up at her and tried to speak but she silenced him with putting her fingers to his lips. He let her smooth his hair back and kiss his forehead as she wiped the blood from his mouth. He grimaced as she poured white wine over the deepest of the cuts, before she stitched it.

She shook her head, "don't you want our children to know their father?" She said when she had bandaged the welt on his head that was a result of his falling over after his mutilation. "Erik I have something to tell you." He looked up at her," I am with child."

"What, but the doctor…"

"Had made a misdiagnosis darling. When I came to him I was feeling ill he told me that he had made a mistake and that I was once again pregnant."

"Oh god, Christine… I am so sorry… I did not mean for it to happen again. "

"Didn't mean for," she laughed, "Erik no one means for these things to happen."

"I… love… you," he said as he drifted off to sleep. She smiled and kissed her husband softly.

Erik felt her snuggle close to him and he turned to her, wrapping his arms around her. He heard her sigh and brushed her hair with his lips. She relaxed into him and then began to weep in her dreams. The husband frowned, he did not like it when she was disturbed and therefore she mustn't be. Turning her to face him, he kissed her eyelids and shook her lightly. Normally that would have waked her up but she just turned away from him. Erik closed his eyes; he didn't know what to do. He needed to think of something fast, lest her tears break his heart further. The solution hit him like a blow to the chest and he hit his forehead for his dull-mindedness.

"_Your eyes see but my shadow, my heart is overflowing…_

_There's so much you could come to love, you've got my heart glowing._

_Tenderly, you could see, my soul."_

Erik finished the lullaby, softly kissing her forehead, and drifted back to sleep.

The following evening during intermission Erik came to see Christine, bringing flowers and chocolates like a devoted admirer. He arrived in her dressing room with a soft murmur of, 'guess who.' She smiled and kissed him as he handed her the gifts. He got down on his knees and touched her belly. "Would you like a girl or a boy?" he asked her.

"A girl, with your hair and eyes."

"A girl would be nice, but if she is to have my hair than I would prefer she'd your eyes."

He leaned down and kissed her deeply before leaving her for his work at the gallery. A moment or tow after he'd gone, the door clicked and in walked someone else. A handsome young blonde man with a boyish grin whom she found vaguely familiar but could not place where she had seen it before.

"Christine Daaë, where is your red scarf?"

She turned around, "Raoul?"

_A quick note: _**I looked it up on google and yes, it is possible for a woman to become pregnant six months after giving birth.**

**~OFR**


	23. Introductions

1**Chapter twenty-three**

She could not believe her eyes. Raoul. She had not seen him in years, nine to be exact and yet here he was, standing there like no rift had passed between them. My god, he had grown, from the twelve-year-old young man to the dashing gentleman before her. Christine rose slowly to her feet as she looked at the clock, thank goodness, five minutes, till the opening of the third act. He walked towards her but she ran by him to the stage as the final act of, _Don Giovanni_ beganto play. Finding her mind grateful for the reprieve from the awkwardness ensuing from the encounter with her childhood friend. Her voice rose in time with the music and she let it sweep her away, make her delirious with the sheer hypnotism that it brought her.

Her honey-colored eyes glinted as she opened them slightly to see her husband sitting in box five with a smile plastered on his face. She shook her head fondly and dropped to her knees for the graceful bow that came along with the standing ovation. Christine came forward from the stage to go to the back for the removal of the jewelry. When she raised her hand to remove her choker, a set of leather-clad hands caught hers. Turning she saw that it was Ralph her assistant, he unpinned the clasp for her and smiled dashingly.

The young soprano offered him a small, fond smile and a curtsy before going back to her dressing room. Upon entering, she looked in and found Raoul lounging lazily on the sofa. He sat up when he saw her and rose to his feet, she smiled prettily at him. Raoul laughed and wrapped her into his arms; she hugged him back, and held on for a moment. She had missed him very much.

"You're still not wearing your scarf," he said.

"Yes, well it does not go with what I'm wearing in any case." she joked.

They shared a laugh and the young man brought out flowers with a very spoiled, overconfident grin. She shook her head as he got on one knee to give her a pose that was meant to charm her, but only served to make her laugh harder. Raoul grimaced playfully, he pouted boyishly and then got to his feet. She cracked up.

"My ladylove rejects my advances?" he said, more seriously than she had expected.

Her laughter disappeared as quickly as it came for she saw that he was no longer playing with her. There was no glint in the young man's eyes or rather they had lost the gleam of youthful amusement. Christine shook her head attempting to smile as he walked forward to take her in his arms again, she let him but this time his arms were tighter than she wanted them to be and so squirmed out of his arms. Raoul grinned as he felt she was toying with him and only to increase his love with her coy actions with suspense.

"Perhaps, my lady could use a little _persuasion, _" said he, "dine with me tonight."

Christine was abashed at his gallant efforts she shook her head fondly; she really had missed her childhood sweetheart. She could not go with him, even if she wanted to due to the fact that her husband would be there soon. He advanced on her extending her a white-gloved hand and she shook her head. There was no way that the young man could ever get her to go with him. He made to capture her when the door clicked and a newcomer advanced into the room. Erik. Thank god! She smiled at him in relief before going to him and nuzzling his neck.

The feel of his arms around her was more than welcome at the moment. He brought his arms around her and lifted her chin, giving her a quick peck on the lips. She deepened it and he complied more than happy to give her what she wanted. They held the kiss until they broke away for breath and the fact that Charles squeaked in his father's arms for his mother's attention. Christine laughed and swept him up into her arms holding him in the air as she spun him around slowly.

Charles cooed as she made crooning sounds to amuse him as she did a little dance with him. Christine twirled around slowly over and over beaming when she brought him down to sit in the crook of her arm. Her son gurgled and reached down towards her swelling belly as if wanting to give his sibling to be a hug. She laughed kissing the top of his head and ruffled his hair. Erik grinned and put his arm around both of them smiling gently. She smiled back and kissed his nose.

Raoul cleared his throat as he watched the three of them together wondering what was going on. Who was this man and why was she so infatuated with him and the child looked so like her… it did not make any sense. The young man cleared his throat a second time but the trio seemed to take no notice of him. They seemed to be lost in their own world, oblivious to the goings on of the real world. But what was this world that they were in? What was it and where?

The Vicomte decided to wait a few moments before calling for their attention. He thought that he should try and figure it out for himself, lest he feel like a fool. He thought and wondered and wondered and thought but each time no answer came to him. The lad was getting fed up with the whole lot and wanted an explanation _now._ He cleared his throat louder this time and this time they turned around to see him standing there. To his surprise however, Christine looked as though she had seen him for the first time. He didn't care; he just stood there tapping his foot impatiently.

"Forgive me, " she said handing the child back to the man, "I had forgotten you were here."

_No doubt, _thought Raoul as he waited for her to explain herself.

When she did not he cleared his throat and went closer to her he noted the man got up and stood behind her placing his hands over her shoulders protectively. He noted the way she leaned in closer to him, fitting in his chest as though she were a part of him. As though it were meant to be. She pulled the baby closer to her as though frightened that she would lose the child if he came closer.

"Christine, you must introduce us to your young friend." The man said coolly as she turned back to him.

"Erik this is---"

"Raoul de Chagny. The _Vicomte _de Chagny."

"Yes, my childhood sweetheart. Raoul this is Erik D'Aubert. My husband."


	24. Opening up

**Chapter twenty-four**

Raoul stood dumbstruck as she finished her statement. He stood there a moment trying to come up with an acceptable reply only to come dry-mouthed. The man wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. She smiled and reached up stroking his cheek; the man held her hand there and stroked it with his thumb and forefinger. The baby looked at her and made kissie sounds at the couple. Causing the couple to laugh as she lifted him up, nuzzling his nose with her own. Her husband smiled.

"Charles, do what papa told you. Come on, show mama." Said the man.

Papa? Mama? What the hell, not only was she married but she had a child. Where had he been when this was going on and why had he not known about this and oh god, how the hell! Raoul watched them together and couldn't help but smile. Sure he was angry with them, angry was an understatement but this was just too adorable. He watched as the father –Erik- took his son on his knee and kissed his nose before sucking on it gently. When the baby whimpered his father asked him if he had to eat his nose.

He heard Christine laugh and play along asking the baby what flavor it was, chocolate or vanilla. Would she bake or fry it for dessert? The father laughed again and admonished her to not forget the sugar and when she asked what kind she should use. Her husband answered brown because it was sweeter. They asked the child if he would like that and shared a laugh when he cooed. It really pissed him off. She had forgotten him _again._

"Charles, show mama." The father said encouragingly as he passed him off to his wife.

His mother lifted him to her lap and waited patiently with an indulgent smile. The child looked at his mother reaching to grab his mommy's nose and she giggled. Erik shook his head fondly and kissed them both on the cheek. Raoul was getting annoyed with this, how in god's name was he going to talk with her if she kept ignoring him? The father told his son again to 'show mama.' Raoul wished the baby would hurry up and show her whatever it was he was going to show her already.

He did. The baby opened his mouth and yawned, stretching his little arms. Was that what they were waiting for, because if they wanted to see people yawn his dog did that every hour on the hour. He was really annoyed.

The baby opened his mouth again. "Maaamma. " he said and then, "Paaapa" Christine gasped and clapped for her child. He giggled and her husband smiled.

Ugh for the love of god would they not shut up already. Raoul stormed off he'd enough of this. These people really had no idea how to entertain guests. How rude of her to forget all about him when he came to see her. He took up his hat and went to the tavern; perhaps a little bed sport would calm him down. The young man was aching now, not from love, but lust for he had not remembered her lips being that full, her torso that buxom or her cheeks that rosy. He wanted her; he needed a woman tonight to forget the one he could not have. An alcoholic reaching for a glass of wine from which he could never be allowed to drink. That's what he was. So knowing this he went on thinking of the poor excuse whom would be his substitute. When He went to the tavern the young man selected a new one to be his bedmate for the night.

"Ah, a young man. Come to learn a few things from a woman hmm? Splendid!"

He nodded and She smiled and captured his hand. She was an older woman around middle age just the way he liked them. He loved having older women, true seductresses with whom he could play with awhile while letting them teach him new tricks and tactics for young women. He grinned as the woman came to him. He took her back to an inn and played with her for a little while, kissing her and touching her. The kind of kisses that was always welcome to the ladies, particularly the more experienced ones.

"Mm-mm. You are good young one." She murmured as he nibbled the base of her earlobe and ran his tongue along its curve. "Now, let me teach you a few things."

She ran her hand up along his neck finding the thong that bound his hair pulling it free. His hair fell down and the woman buried her face in it nipping his neck. Raoul moaned softly as she eased the slight sting with light open-mouthed kisses. He took her so that her eyes met his and kissed her slowly. She grinned on his lips, pulling him down with her hand on the back of his neck. Her deepened the kiss and carried her to the bed. When he broke away she was anchoring herself to him by a fistful of hair.

"Teach me more Mademoiselle. I am nothing but your willing pupil."

She smiled wickedly at him and pulled her pupil down as she taught him more than he knew what to do with, searching her body with his touches she led him through the mazes. Though the twists and turns were in no way foreign to him she showed turn after turn anew. When they had finished he held her close to him as he thought of the one he really wanted.

There was no way he could not woo Christine into his arms. If only he could get her alone. Raoul drifted to sleep thinking of the way she would swoon in his arms say his name in pleasured agony. He would make her forget all about her husband. He would make her love him.

* * *

Erik took Christine out of her room with Charles in her arms as she rocked the infant to sleep. He looked at her a moment as they rode back in the coach and when she put their son to bed for what she affectionately called, 'night-night time' he took her arm and lead her from the room into the library. He got her a cup of scalding sweet tea with milk the way she liked it and had her sit with him on the sofa. He sighed and said nothing for a moment rubbing his temples." Christine can I… can I speak to you?"

His wife looked at him for a moment, "You have to ask your wife if you may talk to her?"

Erik gulped. He had wanted to tell her this for a while and with her sweetheart in the picture he just could not avoid the subject anymore he had to tell her.

"I think its time I told you… about… my life. " Christine blinked but nodded and went closer to him for emotional support. She put her hand on his shoulder to calm him down; he did not even know that he was shaking.

"I was born Erik Alexander D'Aubert. The only son to an architect named Kenneth and his wife Madeline. They were not kind people, my father was known all over the town for being a falling down drunkard and my mother was… well… just cruel. You see I grew up in a small country town not far from here, Broachville. As you can guess it was quite easy to tell whose child I was because, well again it was a small place."

"I was not allowed to go to school with the other children because my father thought me 'too stupid to learn anything anyways.' He hated me for some reason or other; something I did always angered him. Even if I did nothing at all my father would find some reason to punish me. Sometimes he did it simply because he was in a bad mood and needed something to release his aggression on. I was his favorite thing to do the former to you see because well just because I was there and therefore an ideal target. "

If anything went wrong in the house he would blame me. It did not matter what went wrong or why it was always my fault. Even when I was not there it was still my fault. Hell if mom breathed too hard it was my fault. I thought that there wasn't anything wrong with it; he told me that father's loved their children."

"He died when I was five and my mother became even cruller then. She broke a mirror over my head when I was three simply because could not spell the word 'distinguished' right on the moment she asked me to. I never did anything that would please her… I wanted to but nothing I ever did was good enough. "

He was close to tears now and so Christine rubbed his back soothingly.

"I was five when she killed my pet, my little dog Sasha. It was on my birthday when I had asked her for nothing more than a kiss. To punish me she made me look at my unmasked face in the mirror. I was so frightened that I broke it with my fists, to punish me for that she put poison in Sasha's food. Killing her. I woke up the next morning and found her like that. I found her… dead… I was five… and she was dead. It was my fault, all my fault. If I had not asked for that… " He began to cry then.

"Oh no, no sweeting." Christine whispered.

"I ran away that night, ran as far as I could and then got captured by a group of gypsies. They were cruller than both of my parents put together. The leader Javart was the worst of them, he would make me take off my mask and show my face to huge innumerable crowds. Later at night when I turned twelve he came in and took of his clothes and… I lost my virginity that night." He sobbed.

Christine gasped.

"I killed him, I did not want to but I had to so that it would not happen again. I learned to murder then and made my way to Italy where I met Lucy. You already know what happened there, I met her father at the same show Giovanni. He taught me how to build and all about architecture. I ran off after my wife and child died and then went to Paris where I… oh god Christine… please do not hate me for this. I became the Opera Ghost and eventually the Angel of Music… yes, it was me who taught you to sing."

Christine gasped but did not let go of him. There was no reason to be angry with him he had done nothing but help her. He looked at her and she at him. Erik hung his head down, sobbing but she lifted his chin and kissed him deeply. He brought his hands around her shoulders and kissed her back.

"Shh Erik. Hush" she murmured and pulled him down on the sofa so he was next to her. "Shh, don't cry, please don't weep. It hurts me to see you like this. Please don't cry Erik. Please don't. Please." Erik wanted to do what she asked but he could not, he just kept sobbing. "Sssh, please Erik, hush. Don't cry, I'm here, I love you.


	25. Natasha

Chapter twenty-five

Erik looked at his wife, had he heard her correctly, had he just heard her tell him that she loved him? He couldn't believe his ears but still she had said it and the look in her eyes told him plainly that she was not lying. His hands reached up by their own capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Erik kissed her hard and let her pull him down on top of her holding him there as she returned his kiss with the same passion. She reached up as she pulled away from him holding his face still so she could look into his eyes. Erik looked into hers as he smoothed her brown ringlets letting his fingers toy with the little spirals.

Her eyes gazed into his and she slowly kissed the tears away from his eyelids, his cheeks, and the corner of his mouth. He simply held her as he whispered a song in her ear to make her drowsy. Her eyes began to droop and he was fine with it. He did not really feel like making love right now. He just wanted to hold her close, to feel her in his arms in a simple way. Just a man embracing the woman he loved as she dreamed of waiting passion, which would come in time. She nestled into his arms laying her head over his heart moaning softly. He kissed the top of her head, rocking her slowly watching her fall asleep with a smile.

"Erik…"

Her voice trailed off and she sighed softly. He kept rocking her as her breathing became even and deep. The sound of her soft breathing soothed him like a lullaby and soon he dropped off with his arms wrapped gently around her. The couple slept like that until Charles woke them for want of their attention and they more than happily obliged him. He picked the baby up setting him on his knee while his mother got his bottle. He tickled him and sang a Scottish children's song.

"_Oh stop your tickling Jack, stop your tickling Jack._

_Stop your tickling-ikle-ikle-ikeling_

_Stop your tickling Jack."_

Christine smiled and handed Erik the bottle, watching him as he fed the child with exquisite care. He finished; burped him, and played with him. The little boy said mama and reached toward his mother who placed him on her lap and curled her arm around him protectively. Erik smiled and ruffled his curls. Charles placed his hand on her belly… "Baaby.

"Oh really." Christine laughed. Erik took him back from his mother and sang him to sleep.

The couple went to their room after putting him to bed and she lay down, pulling him down on top of her. "Make love to me." She whispered kissing him softly.

Erik smiled and kissed her deeply for a half a minute at least and pulled her close. He ran his long fingers down her neck, holding her still while he nipped her throat and easing the sting with his tongue. He took his time with her breasts giving each of them the attentions of his mouth. Enjoying the way she said his name in more urgency every time he gave them a long passionate kiss. He liked the way she held him while he pleasured her and the way she groaned when his hands replaced his mouth. His fingers gave her the same attentions as his lips and she loved it. She pulled his shirt up to give him what she had received from his mouth.

He groaned and pushed her gown up slightly repeating her actions in the hook of her knee. Then lower, lower until his mouth tasted her as she went skyrocketing to the next level. She shivered and grabbed at fistfuls of his hair, moaning as she flew higher and higher. Dizziness was taking her and soon the only thing she could see was the inside of her eyelids.

She did not mind, she wanted to feel him, his hands holding her gently, his mouth making her fly. Christine pulled away from him her right hand hurting from her too-tight grip on the bed board. He looked at her as of to ask her permission before he finished himself. She nodded and he slowly entered her closing their passions leisurely until he exploded into her and they slept in a lover's embrace.

Three months went by and the couple had no sign of Raoul. Christine now seven months into her pregnancy was fine with this as was the little family. Charles for instance, now nine months old was learning how to draw and play the piano. Erik was very proud of his child, the same as any father would be when his son was a as Erik pit it, 'the next Mozart' His father would sit with him and tell him stories of far of places. The times he had been a magician in the courts of the Shah of Persia. His trips to Italy, Germany, and any other place he had been to.

Christine would then take the sleeping child to his bed and tuck him in snugly as she and his father sang him a lullaby. Sometimes he would reach up and hug her belly. All and all things were perfect for them and even more so on the night of October 21st when the mother woke with the pains of birth to give her husband his second child. Erik had gone to Angus and told him to go get the midwife. He ran off and just like before the doctor came and medicated her to make her rest. Charles had to be held on Erik's lap because the poor child was having a nervous breakdown. (His father was close to one at this point.) And time went on.

Five hours went by and the doctor came out telling him that his wife and child were fine and that he could go in now. Taking his son by the hand he came in to see his new child, his son waiting with big eyes to make his sibling's acquaintance. Erik looked at his sleeping wife and then to the midwife who was cleaning the baby off. She came to Erik and handed him his daughter, a beautiful little girl with her mother's honey eyes and a tuft of black fuzz decorating her head. His son wanted to see so the father held the little girl down to his level. He looked at her a moment and then kissed her forehead with a greeting of, 'Hi baby.'

Erik smiled as Charles kissed her nose and said, "my sister." Taking her little hand in his protectively. The father kissed them both and then placed the baby in her mother's arms.

"Hello love." She whispered

"Mommy, can I hold her?" her older brother asked and happily took her in his arms. When she started to cry he shushed her and began a lullaby:

"_A gentle breeze, from Hushaby Mountain, softly blows over lullaby bay."_

"_It fills the sails of boats that are waiting, waiting to sail your worries away."_

"_It isn't far to Hushaby Mountain, and your boat waits down by the key."_

"_The winds of night so softly are sighing, soon they will fly your troubles to sea."_

"_So close your eyes, on Hushaby Mountain, wave goodbye to cares of the day."_

"_And watch your boat from Hushaby Mountain, sail far away from lullaby bay."_

"Goodnight Natasha. Brother loves you." He whispered. His parents watched giving each other an adoring look as their son named his sister while he carried her into his bedroom and put her in his old bassinet lovingly tucking the blanket around her and blowing out the candle before going to practice his drawing. Yes life could not be more perfect.

**(A/N For Charles's voice think of Gerard Butler) **


	26. Confrontation

**Chapter twenty-six**

_Raoul_

I cannot believe this I just cannot believe this she walked out on me! Well not really but that is the best I can come up with for lack of a better expression. Ugh this is great, I mean I know I was gone for a while but she just waltzes off and marries someone else. My father just does not understand that I love her or at least I think I do. He tells me to get over it and that I should stop complaining about the whole mess. What does he know he and mother married by the time they were forty and he has no idea what rejection feels like because every woman in Paris wants to hang on his arm.

Oh what the hell is wrong with me, don't I deserve better?I can do better! Far better! I could live the good life, I mean I'm Raoul-bloody-de-Chagny for Christ's sake! Why I could marry a rich woman, one who's as pretty if not prettier than her. An aristocrat whose demeanor is innocent and complacent, calm and obliging as a lady should be. Ah what a sight! My ladylove, a freshly weaned maiden whose virginity would be mine for the taking an innocent first-seasoned lady whom my father would accept into the family with open arms. How perfect.

Of course she would be so infatuated with me she would not dream of rejecting my advances. A pretty bride with not a thought in her mind save for how to please me, raise my family and be the picture-perfect little housewife. That would be brilliant, a beautiful young woman of title and wealth, with whom I am madly in love with and willing to honor my advances so much so that she becomes the toast of high-society. If I were to find a woman like that it would be so easy to charm her. God knows that I charm hundreds of women I don't even know.

That woman would suit me perfectly and we would live comfortably and well. But then it begs the question do I want well or do I want her? Ugh! I am getting a headache from trying to figure this out and for the love of god why do I even bother to begin with? Hah! I will do much better than her and show her whom has lost to whom. I hate the way I am acting, as a little spoiled boy but I cannot help it. She is making me go mad! Ergo I must figure out what I am going to do about it. I will go see her and make her see that my courtship was always how life was fated to turn.

Now the only problem is how to get away from my father. He'll never let me out of the house if he knew what I am doing. Hmm… what to do, what to do, yes I can hear my father snoring. That must mean that he is drunk. He never snores otherwise and this means I can slip away unnoticed.

On the way to the theater I thought about what the heck I was going to do once I was there. I waited a few minutes but decided that now was a good time for a nap. There was nothing for it and so I decided to play it by ear and see what happens next. When I finally arrived I made my way to her dressing room where I found her with _him _and her child. Her husband was holding her in a half-hug and nuzzling her hair with his chin. Her son was standing beside her and the man holding a little wrapped bundle in his arms. The bundle reached out a little hand and grabbed at his nose. He laughed and kissed it, or at least I thought that was what he did.

"Erik?" she asked him as I saw her fit her head closer into the niche of his shoulder.

"Hmm?" he asked.

I could not help but shiver at the deep tenor in his voice, such a musical pitch. Isn't it funny how she would manage to find a man with not only wealth but also a handsome and hypnotic voice to match? I knew the man was quite wealthy for I had seen his artwork in not only all of the most prominent and expensive galleries in Paris.

I also am no stranger to the sight of his work in nearly all of the homes of every nobleman and lady that I had been to, mine included. For my father loved his work as did my mother… and I have to admit I do enjoy it myself. Great, now he's rich, famous and has a perfect voice. Everything an artistic girl like Christine would want in a man aside from their matching enjoyment of art. I hate him so very much! I had become sidetracked by my musings of my own hate of the man and so had missed part of the conversation.

Anyways…

"How many children do you want?" she asked as I perked up my ears to listen.

"As many as you want to give me my love," was his reply and then silence.

I wanted to strangle the bastard for being the father of her child and for well… just being there. Looking back I saw her kiss him deeply as she snuggled into his arms. How much more annoying could this get… I do not know but I am getting sick of this lovesick nonsense. Next thing I knew she was sound asleep in his arms while he petted her hair as he sang a lullaby. Oh my god I think I shall vomit!

"Daddy! She's crying and I can't calm her down!" the little boy's voice came through.

Oh joy! The toddler had a musical voice too although his was a deep baritone with just a hint of a rasp. The whole family was a bunch of artists and singers and all of that for the love of god. I know it's been five months since my last sight of them but the boy was now talking and walking. And who the hell was 'she'? Great! The father reached down and scooped the bundle from his son's hands.

"How's my little girl?" he asked. Girl. They'd had more children, wonderful. She began to whimper and he rocked her back and forth for a moment. "Shush, little blackbird, shush." He murmured. How sickening!

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night take these broken wings and learn to fly."_

"_All your life, you've only waited for this moment to arrive, blackbird fly."_

"_Blackbird flies, into the light of the dark black night."_

Christine woke up and smiled at him as he gathered his son close to him and she went to freshen up. I would get her when she was on stage and then we'd see whom she really loved. I accidentally clicked the door open and so she turned around to look at me. Erik handed his daughter and turned to face me putting his arms around his wife and his son. I stood rooted to the spot not knowing what I was going to do now. Dear god this was awkward and I had no idea what the man was going to do to me but by the look on his face it made the hairs on the back my neck.

"Raoul… what a… charming surprise." Christine stammered.

I said nothing because well there was nothing I could say at this point that wouldn't get me into trouble. I just turned and walked as fast as I could out of the room and the theater-thanking god he had not killed me. I hated that man on so many levels and now I was becoming jittery just by looking at him. Ugh! I needed a drink.

I came back the next day to see her and found her with her husband sans children. He was kissing her deeply and her face was flushed with her earthen curls mussed. I wanted to vomit because I knew exactly what it was that they'd been doing (I knew because her dress was hastily thrown on and still unbuttoned.) and I did not need the image. She was lying in his arms on her sofa and he reached into his pocket. I heard her gasp as he took out a small ring with a ruby in the center.

"Happy anniversary dearest." He said.

"Oh Erik it's beautiful," she whispered, "But I'm afraid I have nothing to give you."

"A kiss will do just fine."

I heard him say and watched her kiss him deeply. I couldn't take it anymore and I was about to walk away when I slipped on the wet floor, grasped the door and stumbled in. They broke away turning to me, she looking confused, he annoyed. She stood up and offered her hand to help me up while she attempted quite pitifully to smother her laughter at my disheveled appearance.

I struggled to my feet and left them their as I was walking down the hall I heard him say, "I cannot believe I will be thirty-seven in a week." And she laughed.

Thirty-seven? He was thirty-seven. No wonder she was so close to him, he had brainwashed her into thinking she loved him and had taken advantage of her. Well, we can't have that now can we? I smiled to myself and walked away as I went back to the house where my father was still in his drunken snore-sleep. That suited me just fine, tomorrow I would go back to the theater and I remind her what it was to have her body held in the arms of a young man. Sleep sounded good and I liked the idea of my plans so I decided to take a nap. Tomorrow we would settle this.

When I came the next morning she was thankfully not with M. D'Aubert for once. I reached out and pulled her up to me, she let me hug her for a moment and she hugged me back. We released each other after a moment and I couldn't help myself. I touched her hair. She returned the gesture, but she ruffled my hair and mussed it the way a little sister would. I smiled and shook my head as I leaned in and kissed her lips. She gasped in surprise and shoved at me lightly, when I broke away.

"Raoul, please never do that again." She told me softly.

I smiled softly and kissed her again only this time she did not gasp but pushed away from me. Her lips were swollen from my kiss and she had a light blush to her cheeks. This is encouraging, I leaned in once more but she turned her face away. She looked at me when she realized that she would not get away from me this time.

"Raoul, I am a married woman. A mother of two beautiful children who will god willing birth many more and a woman in love, the man I love is my husband."

"No you don't, you've been brainwashed my little love. You've forgotten what it is to be held by a man who loves you." I argued.

"Raoul, I _love _my husband. I'm sorry to have to hurt you like this for you've made your feelings for me perfectly clear but I regret that I do not return them."

I had beard enough of this chatter and pulling her into my arms again I kissed her hard. She loved me and no one else, so help me she would see that if it were the last thing I would do. Next thing I knew I was being thrown away from her and she had run into her husbands arms kissing him hard. I cursed as he held her and asked her if she was all right and she thanked him for coming for her. I don't why remember or what made me do it. For god knows I did not want to but the next thing I knew there was a loud sound. _Bang! _The holster in my coat was empty, the pistol I always carried was smoking in my hand. A soft _thud, _and then, her husband lay unmoving.

Bleeding on the floor.


	27. The Gentleman and his Lady

**Chapter twenty-seven**

_No, no, oh god, __**no!**_

The thought was screaming inside her head as she watched the man she loved tumble to the floor in a heavy mass. Raoul looked at his hand and dropped the weapon. He was horrified, what had he just done, the pistol clattered to the floor with a soft, _click. _The young man closed his eyes when she began to sob he hated this whole mess. What had he done? He had never shot anyone before; he had not meant to shoot down the man. Oh god on earth why had he done it?

"Erik look at me," she was pleading.

Then he really felt his heart ache as moved closer to her. He had truly hurt her, hurt was an understatement he had killed her inside. No, this was what was meant to happen; now he could hold her make her see that he was the real love of her life. Raoul pulled her up and hugged her hard, only to have her shove him hard enough to cause him to wince. He did not let her go, the sound of her tears were hurting him and he wanted to make them go away more than anything.

She yanked away from him and bent down to her husband while he thought over his next move. He watched the way she cupped the back of his head, lifting him so as to wake him up. Raoul closed his eyes as she pulled his head into her lap, smoothed the black locks of his hair back from his face. He wished now more than anything that he could help her but first he would have to get her away from the other man. There was only one way to do that; he would have to kiss her.

He bent down and pulled her to him, holding her as he did so and then the young man received the shock of his life. Christine pulled away from him and struck him so hard that her wedding band fell to the floor. Raoul blinked, touching his cheek and looked at the smears of blood on his fingers. She bent down and returned the aquamarine ring to her left hand before kneeling beside her spouse. The young man, still in shock stood rooted to the spot, not fully believing what had just happened.

"Chris…tine…" her husband wheezed as he reached for her.

"I am here my love." She crooned softly and kissed him.

Raoul watched with an aching heart as he realized something he never wanted to think about. She loved not he, but the one she kissed right before his eyes. The man she longed for pulled away and pulled her gently towards him as if to keep her from dirtying her hands with his blood. Raoul caught her in his arms, holding her as she struggled to free herself. He would not lose her to him, not to the beast, not now, not ever. She loved him; she always had and always would. He would not accept anything less. Christine looked at him through her golden eyes and turned back to the man she loved, her eyes begging him not to leave her. He reached for her again and kissed her face.

Raoul's heart screamed in agony as he watched her embrace her husband, who clung to her for all he was worth. His eyes glimmered in pain as she let him kiss her and brush down her brown locks. The young lord grimaced as she ran her hands over his face and brought him to her and pulled his head down. Holding him there as she kissed him. Christine waited as he tenderly brought her lips apart for the third time.

Erik wrapped his arms around her and forgot the world, letting this one moment capture him forever. There was nothing he could have in this kiss, never again would he feel the touch of her lips, nor the slight pressures of her hand. So, he took his time, made the moment last so as he would have a remnant of this dream to hold when he was forced to wake up. Slowly for his heart's sake, he kissed her for the last time. Christine let him go, looking into his eyes as he took his wedding ring from his finger and pressed it into her palm.

"No, Erik. Dear heart please do not give me this," she pleaded with him.

"Christine---" Raoul started.

"Get away from me you coldhearted bastard!" she yelled as she turned back to her husband, "Erik darling please stay awake, and don't you dare leave me. Please stay with me… god don't close your eyes, please my love…" she sobbed shaking him as he started to lose consciousness.

"Christine, we have finished this." Raoul muttered

"Finished what? Finished killing the man I love? Finished killing the father of my children, the love of my life?" She snapped.

Raoul continued as though she hadn't spoke. "It is clear to me now that I do not hold your heart and I never will…" Raoul whispered as he watched her with him. "Goodbye Christine Daaë… goodbye my love…" With that he raised his pistol and gave her husband justice as he ended his life.

Christine gasped in horror as the prince charming of her girlhood years died by his hand. She sobbed for him a moment and then turned back to Erik who was kneeling before her having struggled to his knees. She threw herself into her his arms as he tried to stand. He fell down again and gasped for breath, and the sound of her sobs became heavy while quiet. Erik pulled her down and rocked her weakly as he felt his senses beginning to slip away from him. Christine let him fearing this would be the last time she ever did so. The last time she would ever hear his voice, the beating of his heart beneath her cheek.

Erik tried to calm her down but was unsuccessful in his endeavors. He kissed the little patch of skin between the halves of her hair and hummed to her. She held on to him and sobbed for him for how long no one knows.

"Calm down miss I will make him better." Came a voice.

Christine turned to see a man with handsome jade eyes and ebony skin coming toward them. He had a man at his side; the other had the same skin-tone but brown eyes and a slightly thicker build. They came towards her, the first lifting her to her feet and holding her. She clung to him shaking and muttering pleas that he would not die letting the man rock her and shush her till she calmed down a bit. The other lifted Erik easily and carried him gently to the front of the theater where a coach was waiting. People surrounding them backed up to let them through knowing that now was not the time to be asking questions. Even the newsmen kept silent as the four of them drove off. The four arrived at a small house where Erik was lay on a bed in a small room where she stayed with him day in and out.

Charles and Natasha were at home thank god for she did not want them to see their father like this. It would not do for that to happen for Erik would be horrified to have them see him in the condition he was in. She did not sleep at all the first three days he was mending for she did not want to close her eyes and find him dead when she woke. He could not leave her he just could not, she loved him and that meant that he could not leaver her. Christine would sit by his side for hours on end praying for him to live so that she could be with him to watch his children grow up and see his grandchildren. So she could bear him, 'as many children as she cared to give him.'

When her eyes would not open anymore she would put water on her face and force them to do so. It was on the day of the anniversary of her father's death she finally succumbed to sleep, too tired to fight anymore. Or rather she almost did but forced herself to fight it again for she refused to sleep until he was well again. Her eyes were too heavy for her to open so she let them close but she sang to him to keep herself conscious. This went on for a week, and then another and still she did not dare sleep.

He was feverish from his wound and his temperature was fluctuating dangerously and so she kept awake until she could no longer bear the burn in her eyes. Erik woke in the middle of this to find her with her eyes closed and still fighting sleep weakly. He shook his head and jostled her slightly to make her open her eyes ergo seeing that he was all right and she could sleep. She moaned softly and forced herself to open her eyes. Erik wiped the trails of tears from her cheeks as she began to weep and gently took her hand pulling her weakened form down beside him easily.

All she saw was a blur of a human form and then she felt something warm and smooth wrap around her and she fell asleep. Erik lay awake, simply enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the sound of her gentle breathing. He went back to sleep like that as Nadir came in and took off his mask so as to clean the deformity before it sprouted an infection. He did forget however to put it back on and left it on the bedside table.

When Erik woke the next morning to find this he immediately covered his face and went searching for it. He accidentally woke up his wife in the process.

"Wha-what is it?" she asked thickly.

"My mask! Where's my mask!" he gasped.

Christine had not heard him but simply leaned in and kissed him hard on the lips. He responded forgetting his present dilemma at the moment and cupping her face. When they broke away he covered his face up again and went looking for his mask making Christine both look at him in confusion and smile in amusement at the same time. His hand fell away from his face and this time she caught it before he covered it up.

"Look at me darling." She murmured and turned his face toward her.

Fully exposed before her Christine was faced with the most horrifying sight of her life. The whole right side of her husband's face was a skinless mass of open veins and cartilage some of it just open bones. The patch under his eye was covered in tiny welts some of which were bleeding. The skin that was there on the edges looked as though it were the scrap of some unwanted and tatted fabric. White and fragile, paper thin and easily ripped from the flesh as it had been many times before from the look of the old remnants of scabbing on his cheek. His nose was half gone to the affect of that deformity and had no skin there either.

It was horrible.

"I'm sorry you have to be married to a man like this." Erik choked as he tried to turn away.

"Look at me." She whispered. He did. "Mm-hmm. Same eyes. Smile for me." He did. "Yes, same smile." She raised his hand to her cheek. "Same hands. Same touch. Sing for me."

"_Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime." _

"_Say the word and I will follow you."_

"_Say you want me with you, here beside you." _

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too."_

"_Christine that's all I ask of you."_

"Same voice." she murmured, then leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "Same lips with the same kiss. Hug me" He did, "Same strong arms with a matching embrace." She turned his face towards her and touched the normal side, "Same face." She kissed his forehead, "Yes, same man. Same love of my life."

She leaned down and kissed him, "Make love to me with the same passion."

"Your wish is my command my lady."

They did and when they had finished they returned to their children who happily abandoned the kitten to leap into their parent's arms. The family was never happier with their children and each other. The father, a mother, a son and their baby.

No one more so than the gentleman and his lady.

**THE END**


End file.
